But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. Don’t stand gawping, man. Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clockfaces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—that is, back foremost,— broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco.
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