could even attempt to pronounce. Altogether, his manner and appearance were strange and mysterious; his pale visage, tall meagre frame, and stern black eyes, were so little adapted to inspire confidence, that he would certainly have been shunned by all the world, if he had not possessed a fund of entertaining anecdotes, which were gladly drawn upon to dispel ennui. It was universally allowed, however, that his stories required rather more credulity than his listeners were always willing to afford.
Our party had, on one occasion, supped together as usual, and this time rose from the table in very bad humour. The fatigues of a dancing assembly, which had lasted very late the preceding night, still weighed on their nerves; and though the moon shone invitingly, not one among them showed any inclination to walk. They seemed too tired even for conversation; no wonder, therefore, if the Marquis, who was absent, should be wished for now, more than he had ever been. “Where in the world can he have staid so long?” said the Countess, impatiently. “Doubtless once more at the pharo table, where he drives all the bankers to despair;” said Florentine. “Merely on
