Signor Bartlezzi made an effort to draw himself up, and assumed a military air.
"I am a master of fencing," he announced, "also a professor of Italian—Professor Alfonso Bartlezzi, at your service. I am fairly well-known in this neighborhood. If you have pupils to recommend, sir, or if you are thinking of taking lessons yourself, I should be most happy. My services are sometimes made use of as interpreter, both in the police court and privately. I should be happy to serve you in that capacity, sir."
Signor Bartlezzi, having declared himself, folded his arms and waited. He felt certain that his visitor must now divulge his name and mission. That, however, he seemed in no hurry to do.
"You are an Italian?" he asked presently.
"Certainly, sir."
"May I ask, have you still correspondents or friends in that country?"
The Professor was a little uneasy. He looked steadfastly at his visitor for a moment, however, and seemed to regain his composure.
"I have neither," he answered sorrowfully. "The friends of former days are silent; they have forgotten me."
"You have lived in England for long, then?"
"Since I was a boy, sir."