Ha, ha! I am a pupil of
Macchiavelli. I find it much better to disbelieve everything, and
to approach my subject and wishes circuitously, than in a direct
manner. You have observed that playful animal, the cat. Call it,
and it does not come to you directly, but rubs itself against all
the furniture in the room, and reaches you finally--and scratches.
Ah, ha, scratches! I am of the feline species. People call me a
villain--bah!
I know the family, living No. 27 Limehouse Road. I respect the
gentleman,--a fine, burly specimen of your Englishman,--and madame,
charming, ravishing, delightful. When it became known to me that
they designed to let their delightful residence, and visit foreign
shores, I at once called upon them. I kissed the hand of madame.
I embraced the great Englishman. Madame blushed slightly. The
great Englishman shook my hand like a mastiff.
I began in that dexterous, insinuating manner, of which I am truly
proud. I thought madame was ill. Ah, no. A change, then, was all
that was required. I sat down at the piano and sang. In a few
minutes madame retired. I was alone with my friend.
Seizing his hand, I began with every demonstration of courteous
sympathy.
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