Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 391: what you’re looking at

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part rose from table. ‘ ——— - ~ SE a — 378 JOSEPH WILMOT; likewise took their departure, to visit some theatre; and as the door closed behind them, my green- spectacled friend beckoned me to come round and sit next to him. “You acted very prudently,” he said, when I had complied with his signalled invitation. “Those fellows are not what they seem. The proprietor of the hotel is perfectly aware of their real cha- racter, and has his eye on them: but of course until they lay themselves open to any direct im- putation, he is compelled to tolerate them.” “ And what are they P” I inquired. ‘Swindlers and sharpers,’ responded the gen- tleman in the green spectacles; and now that he had ceased eating and drinking, he had a way of holding a delicate cambrie handkerchief, strongly perfumed, up to his mouth, as if he had the tooth- ache. “I generally visit Paris onee a year,” he continued, “and always put up at this hotel. The proprietor therefore knows me well; and in the course of conversation on my arrival this forenoon, he mentioned to me the presence in his establish- | ment of those fellows of whom we have been talk- ing. I saw plainly enough that they wanted to get you into their society; and if I had not ob- served that your own suspicions were aroused, I should have deemed it my duty to give you a hint or two upon the subject.” “T am exceedingly obliged to you,” I answered: “but, as you surmise, I did think they were not exactly what they sought to represent them-. selves.” “You are very young to be here all by your- self,’ said my new acquaintance: “for that such is your position, I just now gleaned from some remarks which I heard those fellows whispering way. Isuppose you are visiting Paris for sour amusement P” I explained that such was the case—adding that. it was my purpose to sojourn on the Continent for a couple of years. Perceiving that I was dressed in black, and that 1 had mourning-studs in my shirt, the gentleman inquired, with ‘auch display of sympathy, whether I had recently lost some very near relative. Profound was the sigh which rose up to my lips as I thought of my poor deceased boy and the unfortunate Calanthe; and I said in a low voice, “ Yes—I am in mourning for one who was dear to me.” My new acquaintance presently went on to inform me—but in a conversational and by no means an ostentatious manner—that he was a gentleman of independent property—a widower— without any near relations—and that he enjoyed himself by travelling from place to place, of which recreation he was exceedingly fond. He said that for some years past he had suffered very much from weakness of sight, and that one of his reasons for paying his present visit to Paris, was to consult an eminent oculist whose prescriptions invariably benefited him for a time. He added that from this affection of the eyes, as well as from inclina- tion, he was very temperate in respect to the bottle, and that he followed the French custom of taking coffee soon after dinner and drinking no more wine for the rest of the evening. I happened to observe that I also was temperate, and that since I had been in Paris I took coffee after the jnotes in the breast pocket of On, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT, =e The gaily dressed gentlemen | same French custom. Mr. Dowton—for such my new acquaintance informed me was his name— now looked at his watch, which was an exceedingly handsome one; and finding that it was seven o'clock, he invited me up to his own room to partake of coffee with him. There was so much kindness in his manner that I somehow took a fancy to him, and accepted is invitation. He led me to his apartments, which ¢onsisted of a sitting- room and bed-chamber: coffee was ordered—and we sat down together by the side of a cheerful wood fire. “T cannot help thinking, Mr, Wilmot,’ ” said my new friend, as we discussed our coffee, “upon the fortunate escape you have experienced in respect to those ele rg a and swindlers who had evidently marked as their victim. You cannot be too mu ate your guard in Paris ; and you should ona remember that Pasian thieves and pickpockets are the most dexterous in the world. Never go out intothestreets with much money about your person. I have paid dearly for my own experience. I recollect that the first time I ever came to Paris—which was about twelve years ago—I brought with me some fourteen or fifteen hundred pounds in English bank-notes, and went one morning to a money-changer’s in the Palais Royal to obtain French notes and eu The exchange was effected: I buttoned 1 eoat, where > T likewise placed my purse containing the gold. As I was returning to the hotel, I stopped to look in the window of a picture- -shop, where [ loitered for some few minutes. There were three or four other gazers in at the window; and one elegantly dressed Frenchman made some observation to me | in respect toa very fine print representing King amongst themselves when you were looking another Louis Philippe and the whdle.of the Royal family. Speaking the French language well, I was enabied to answer the gentleman; and we conversed together for some four or five minutes. Then we parted,—he making me the politest bow; and I continued my way to the hotel. On reaching my room, I opened my trunk to deposit my money therein : when, on thrusting my hand into my coat-pocket, it slipped through the cloth, the fingers coming out against the buttons. My pocket-book and purse were gone: and there was along slit, evidently made by a very sharp pen- knife or razor, down the cloth just over the pocket.” “Good heavens!” I exclaimed; “how could that have been done without your knowledge ?” “ Ah, how indeed ?” said Mr. Dowton, shaking his head gravely, as he held his cambric handker- chief up to his mouth. “It proves to you, my young friend, the wonderful expertness of the French swell mob, of which the exceedingly polite and well-dressed gentleman at the print-shop window was no doubt a member.” “TI am very much obliged to you,” I said, “for the information you have given me. The coinci- dence is singular: but I also have brought a sum of money to the amount of about fifteen hundred pounds in English bank-notes; and I asked one of the waiters this morning how I should get them changed into French money. He recommended me to a money-changer—I think he said in the Rue de la Paix, just the other side of the Place Vendome; and it was my intention to call there —_—_— err Gooaks (©)