“I declare, I will have him over here; now don't go, sit down like a good fellow; there's no man understands character better than yourself, and I am positively curious to see how you will read this man on a closer inspection.”
“He does not interest, he merely disgusts, me.”
Pracontal arose, drew nigh the window, and waved his napkin in sign to the man, who at once got up from his seat, and slowly, and half indolently, came over to the window. He was dressed in a sort of gray uniform of jacket and trousers, and wore a kerchief on his head for a cap, a costume which certainly in no degree contributed to lessen the unfavorable impression his face imparted, for there was in his look a mixture of furtiveness and ferocity positively appalling.
“Do you like him better now?” asked Longworth, in English.
And the fellow grinned at the words.
“You understand English, eh?” asked Pracontal.
“Ay, I know most modern languages.”
“What nation are you?”
“A Savoyard.”
“Whence do you come now?”