“You are very kind!” said the other, turning a pair of deep, dark, grey meditative eyes upon him,--“And I am infinitely obliged to you for the suggestion. But I really want nothing. As a matter of fact, I am waiting for two friends of mine who have just gone into one of the foul and filthy habitations here, to see what they can do for a suddenly bereaved family. The husband and father fell dead in the street before our eyes,--and those who picked him up said he was drunk, but it turned out that he was merely starved,--_merely_!--you understand? Merely starved! We found his home,--and the poor widow is wailing and weeping, and the children are crying for food. I confess myself quite unable to bear the sight, and so I have sent all the money I had about me to help them for to-night at least. By my faith, they are most hopelessly, incurably miserable!” “Their lot is exceedingly common in these quarters,” said Thord, sorrowfully. “Day after day, night after night, men, women and children toil, suffer and die here without ever knowing what it is to have one hour of free fresh air, one day of rest and joy! Yet this is a great city,--and we live in a civilized country!” He smiled bitterly, then added--“You have done a good action; and you need no thanks, or I would thank you; for my life’s work lies among these wretched poor, and I am familiar with their tragic histories. Good-night!” “Pray do not go!” said the stranger suddenly--“I should like to talk to you a little longer, if you have no objection. Is there not some place near, where we can go out of this rain and have a glass of wine together?” Sergius Thord stood irresolute,--gazing at him, half in liking, half in distrust. “Sir,” he said at last, “I do not know you--and you do not know me. If I told you my name, you would probably not seek my company!” “Will you tell it?” suggested the stranger cheerfully--“Mine is at your service--Pasquin Leroy. I fear my fame as an author has not reached your ears!” Thord shook his head. “No. I have never heard of you. And probably you have never heard of me. My name is Sergius Thord.” “Sergius Thord!” echoed the stranger; “Now that is truly remarkable! It is a happy coincidence that we should have met to-night. I have just seen your name in this very paper which you caught me reading--see!--the next heading under that concerning the King and the Jesuits--‘Thord’s Rabble.’ Are not you that same Thord?” “I am!” said Thord proudly, his eyes shining as he took the paper and perused quickly the few flashy lines which described the crowd outside the Cathedral that afternoon, and set him down as a crazy Socialist, and disturber of the peace, “And the ‘rabble’ as this scribbling fool calls it, is the greater part of this city’s population. The King may intimidate his Court; but I, Sergius Thord, with my ‘rabble’ can intimidate both Court and King!”