CHAPTER III.
THE ESCAPE.
NEXT morning, just after my late déjeuner (of a rather limited and not luxurious character, for food was getting terribly dear in Paris, and the horses were beginning to be doomed to the slaughter-house), I was starting for a lounge in the Rue Rivoli to hear the news, for which every one was almost as eager as for dinner, when I met my eccentric friend.
"How have you fared last night? Will you come in and take some refreshment?"
"I cannot take anything; but I should like to speak with you."
We went upstairs to my bedroom. Posela sat down and looked at me fixedly, in a way that somehow made me very nervous, for he had a wonderful fascination about the eye. I never felt any one's eye like his.
"Do you really wish very much to get out of this terrible place; to go home to your
