He dwelt likewise upon the emptiness of his pockets, turned over the papers in his pocket-book, and convinced himself of the state of absolute destitution in which he was about to be plunged. He raised his eyes towards heaven, with a sublime emotion of despairing calmness, brushed off with his hand some drops of sweat which trickled over his noble brow, and then cast down upon the earth a look which just before had been impressed with almost divine majesty. That the storm had passed far from him, perhaps he had prayed in the bottom of his soul. He drew near to the window, resumed his place in the balcony, and remained there, motionless, annihilated, dead, till the moment when, the heavens beginning to darken, the first flambeaux traversed the enlivened street, and gave the signal for illumination to all the windows of the city. Chapter VII. Parry. Whilst the unknown was viewing these lights with interest, and lending an ear to the various noises, Master Cropole entered his apartment, followed by two attendants, who laid the cloth for his meal. The stranger did not pay them the least attention; but Cropole approaching him respectfully, whispered, “Monsieur, the diamond has been valued.” “Ah!” said the traveler. “Well?” “Well, monsieur, the jeweler of S. A. R. gives two hundred and eighty pistoles for it.” “Have you them?” “I thought it best to take them, monsieur; nevertheless, I made it a condition of the bargain, that if monsieur wished to keep his diamond, it should be held till monsieur was again in funds.” “Oh, no, not at all: I told you to sell it.” “Then I have obeyed, or nearly so, since, without having definitely sold it, I have touched the money.” “Pay yourself,” added the unknown. “I will do so, monsieur, since you so positively require it.” A sad smile passed over the lips of the gentleman. “Place the money on that trunk,” said he, turning round and pointing to the piece of furniture. Cropole deposited a tolerably large bag as directed, after having taken from it the amount of his reckoning. “Now,” said he, “I hope monsieur will not give me the pain of not taking any supper. Dinner has already been refused; this is affronting to the house of les Medici. Look, monsieur, the supper is on the table, and I venture to say that it is not a bad one.” The unknown asked for a glass of wine, broke off a morsel of bread, and did not stir from the window whilst he ate and drank. Shortly after was heard a loud flourish of trumpets; cries arose in the distance, a confused buzzing filled the lower part of the city, and the first distinct sound that struck the ears of the stranger was the tramp of advancing horses. “The king! the king!” repeated a noisy and eager crowd. “The king!” cried Cropole, abandoning his guest and his ideas of delicacy, to satisfy his curiosity. With Cropole were mingled, and jostled, on the staircase, Madame Cropole, Pittrino, and the waiters and scullions.