For, as he afterwards told me, he had been so drenched in the cistern, and taken up with making his own escape, that he had thought no more of the poor Signor; while, being a wet morning, he had not sought his lodging--which was some distance from the town--before coming, though he was somewhat anxious to consult him upon the previous night's alarm, and hardly dared to show himself. So-- "Signor Pazzoletto, it is thou!" he exclaimed, regularly taken aback, as the sailors say. "_Altro! altro_!" ejaculated the poor man, who sadly wanted to make his escape, but could see no better chance now than there had been all the night. For the passage was blocked, while in the hall were collected together all the pupils and the servants--that gawky James coming back and towering above all, like a horrible lamp-post in a crowd. "My vinaigrette," murmured Madame Blunt. When if that dreadful Achille did not place another arm around her; and that nasty old thing liked it, I could see, far more than Miss Furness did, and hung upon him horribly, pretending to faint; when I could have given anything to have snatched her away. "_Pauvre chere dame_" murmured Achille, giving me at the same moment a comical look out of the corner of his eye. "Oh! Monsieur Achille," said Mrs Blunt, feebly, "oh, help! Send away that wretch. _Otez moi cet homme la_." "_Aha! yais! mais oui_!" exclaimed Achille--the base deceiver, to play such a part!--"Sare, you are not business here. Madame dismiss. Take away yourself off. Cut yourself! Go!" I give this just as Achille spoke it; for I cannot but feel angry at the deceitful part he had played. The Signor looked at Achille, and gave him a diabolical grin--just as if he would have liked to stiletto him upon the spot, with one of the pieces of broken glass. Then he looked at me, bestowing upon me a meaning glance, as he made a rush past us all, and escaped by the front door; but not without splashing right through the puddle, and sending the water all over the Fraulein, so that she exclaimed most indignantly, until the front door closed with a heavy bang. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. MEMORY THE THIRTEENTH--SO VERY WICKED. It was such a relief to know that the Signor was gone, and that, too, without betraying any one. I could see, too, that Achille revived, now that he felt that he was safe for the present, and redoubled his attentions to Mrs Blunt. I declare I believe he would have stood there holding her for an hour, and she letting him, if Miss Furness had not very officiously lent her aid as well; when the lady principal grew better at once, and allowed herself to be assisted into the breakfast-room, where, after much pressing, she consented to partake of a glass of sherry. "Oh, Monsieur Achille," she gasped, "such a serious matter--reputation of my establishment! You will be silent? Oh, dear me, what a dreadful upset."