Pisistratus.--"It is in you. A man who can walk from Paris to Boulogne with twelve sous in his pocket and save four for a purpose; who can stake those four on the cool confidence in his own skill, even at billiards; who can subsist for three days on three rolls; and who, on the fourth day, can wake from the stones of a capital with an eye and a spirit as proud as yours,--has in him all the requisites to subdue fortune." Stranger.--"Do you work--you?" Pisistratus.--"Yes--and hard." Stranger.--"I am ready to work, then." Pisistratus.--"Good. Now, what can you do?" Stranger (with his odd smile).--"Many things useful. I can split a bullet on a penknife; I know the secret tierce of Coulon, the fencing- master; I can speak two languages (besides English) like a native, even to their slang; I know every game in the cards; I can act comedy, tragedy, farce; I can drink down Bacchus himself; I can make any woman I please in love with me,--that is, any woman good for nothing. Can I earn a handsome livelihood out of all this,--wear kid gloves and set up a cabriolet? You see my wishes are modest!" Pisistratus.--"You speak two languages, you say, like a native,--French, I suppose, is one of them?" Stranger.--"Yes." Pisistratus.--"Will you teach it?" Stranger (haughtily). "No. Je suis gentilhomme, which means more or less than a gentleman. Gentilhomme means well born, because free born; teachers are slaves!" Pisistratus (unconsciously imitating Mr. Trevanion).--"Stuff!" Stranger (looks angry, and then laughs).--"Very true; stilts don't suit shoes like these! But I cannot teach. Heaven help those I should teach! Anything else?" Pisistratus.--"Anything else!--you leave me a wide margin. You know French thoroughly,--to write as well as speak? That is much. Give me some address where I can find you,--or will you call on me?" Stranger.--"No! Any evening at dusk I will meet you. I have no address to give, and I cannot show these rags at another man's door." Pisistratus.--"At nine in the evening, then, and here in the Strand, on Thursday next. I may then have found some thing that will suit you. Meanwhile--" slides his purse into the Stranger's hand. N. B.--Purse not very full. Stranger, with the air of one conferring a favor, pockets the purse; and there is something so striking in the very absence of all emotion at so accidental a rescue from starvation that Pisistratus exclaims,-- "I don't know why I should have taken this fancy to you, Mr. Dare-devil, if that be the name that pleases you best. The wood you are made of seems cross-grained, and full of knots; and yet, in the hands of a skilful carver, I think it would be worth much."