‘Well, I’m not a bad-looking fellow, at any rate,’ said he, carefully surveying his reflected image, when all his preparations were complete. ‘But I’m hanged if I should know myself if I were to meet myself in the street. A few more applications of that fellow’s wash will produce a clear olive complexion, and I don’t think I need be afraid then of Tor or anybody else. I look most like an Italian, so an Italian I’ll be. I think I’m equal to the language. I was always told I spoke it like a native, and I don’t feel as if I could easily be puzzled. Yes, I’ll be an Italian, and my name shall be—shall be—say Pagliadini, Marco Pagliadini; that will do as well as any other.’ Since his metamorphosis, he had left his first hotel, and just arrived at a second, in the empty _salon_ of which he now stood, surveying himself in the long mirrors. A confusion of tongues became audible in the hall without, and a waiter put his head into the _salon_, and then advanced with a bow. ‘Is it possible that Monsieur is an Italian?’ he asked obsequiously. ‘Yes, certainly,’ answered Phil, with a half-smile at his own readiness. ‘Then might I solicit the aid of Monsieur for one of his compatriots, who cannot make himself to be comprehended in our language? If Monsieur would have the complaisance to go to his assistance, I am sure he would receive a thousand thanks.’ Phil assented readily, and found a fine-looking old Italian in the hall, vainly trying to make known his wishes to the mistress of the hotel; but his command of the French tongue was not great enough to make her understand that he had been taking photographs of some neighbouring landscapes, and was now anxious to expose his negatives in a dark cellar. With Phil’s assistance, however, the matter soon became amicably settled, and the Italian, in his gratitude to his young countryman, insisted on his company at dinner that night. Phil spent a very pleasant evening with Signor Mattei, his intelligent and courteous host, who, after much talk of art, during which Phil rose higher and higher in his estimation, began to question him a little as to his own plans. ‘I am going to England,’ Phil told him candidly. ‘I have not been there since I was quite a child. I am curious to see something of so great a country.’ ‘Are you going to visit friends?’ ‘No; I go simply as a traveller, bent on pleasure and instruction.’ ‘But you surely have introductions?’ ‘No, not even an introduction. I shall be a stranger to everyone I meet.’ ‘Surely that will be very _triste_?’ ‘If so, I can but return.’ Signor Mattei pulled his long white moustache and considered awhile. ‘You have done me a very kind service, young Signor,’ he said. ‘I should like, if it were possible, to be of some service to you; but unfortunately I know little of England or the English.’