"They are not amusing," she complained, shrugging her shoulders.
"At any rate they are a study," he said. "There are beggars of every nationality under the sun, I should think. Strange how easy it is to distinguish them, even through their rags. There is the Neapolitan, for instance, that old man there with the boy; and there is a Spaniard, and there are two Frenchmen, and there is an English girl——" He stopped suddenly, and let his cigar fall to the ground.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"The matter?" he said, turning with a smile, though his face wore a strange expression. "What do you mean?"
"Why you start as if you had seen a ghost?"
"Oh, come; you are fanciful this evening," he retorted laughing.
"But you did start!" she persisted, listlessly.
"I never contradict a lady," he said lightly. "But believe me, the movement was unconscious," and he took out his cigar-case and languidly chose a fresh cigar; but as he did so, he leaned over the balcony, and keenly scrutinized the crowd beneath; for that which had caused him to start, and drop his cigar, was the form of some one who bore a strange likeness to Lottie Belvoir.
Mr. Austin Ambrose looked in the direction the girl had taken, but she had disappeared, probably up one of the narrow streets, and smiling at the fancied resemblance, he smoked on comfortably and devoted his attention to the crowd. Presently a servant came from the room behind them, and handed a card on a salver.
The countess took it languidly.