I saw that pursuit would be useless; and nobody ever thought, at that period, of attempting to summon the police. I turned to assist the victim, who all at once rose from the ground, uttering groans and cries. The lamp-light shone upon his face. It was the worthy Mr. Blocque--Mr. Blocque, emitting howls of anguish! Mr. Blocque, shaking his clenched hands, and maligning all created things! Mr. Blocque, devoting, with loud curses and imprecations, the assembled wisdom of the “city fathers,” and the entire police force of the Confederate capital, to the infernal deities! “I am robbed--murdered!” screamed the little Jewish-looking personage, in a shrill falsetto which resembled the shriek of a furious old woman, “robbed! rifled!--stripped of every thing!--garroted!--my money taken!--I had ten thousand dollars in gold and greenbacks on my person!--not a Confederate note in the whole pack--not one! gold and greenbacks!--two watches!---I am ruined! I will expose the police! I was going to my house like a quiet citizen! I was harming nobody! and I am to be set on and robbed of my honest earnings by a highwayman--choked, strangled, knocked down, my pockets picked, my money taken--and this in the capital of the Confederacy, under the nose of the police!” It was a shrill squeak which I heard--something unutterably ludicrous. I could scarce forbear laughing, as I looked at the little blockade-runner, with disordered hair, dirty face, torn clothes, and bleeding nose, uttering curses, and moaning in agony over the loss of his “honest earnings!” I consoled him in the best manner I could, and asked him if he had lost every thing. That question seemed to arouse him. He felt hastily in his pockets,--and then at the result my eyes opened wide. Thrusting his hand into a secret pocket, he drew forth an enormous roll of greenbacks, and I could see the figures “100” on each of the notes as he ran over them. That bundle alone must have contained several thousands of dollars. But the worthy Mr. Blocque did not seem in the least consoled. “He got _the other bundle_!” shrieked the victim, still in his wild falsetto; “it was ten thousand dollars--I had just received it this evening--I am robbed!--they are going to murder me!--Where is the police!--murder!” I laid my hand upon his arm. “You have lost a very considerable sum,” I said, “but--you may lose more still.” And I pointed to the roll of bank notes in his hand, with a significant glance. At these words he started. “You are right, colonel!” he said, hastily; “I may be attacked again! I may be robbed of all--they may finish me! I will get home as quickly as I can! Thank you, colonel! you have saved me from robbery and murder! Come and see me, colonel. Come and dine with me, my dear sir! At five, precisely!” And Mr. Blocque commenced running wildly toward a place of safety. In a moment he had disappeared, and I found myself alone--laughing heartily. V. THE CLOAKED WOMAN.