" "Pray, let me have a pinch!" said Edgeworth Bess, with a captivating glance. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. Just speak the word," he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, "and I'll put it out of his power to do the same by your second. He was amused. Then he rallied, smiling a little. And, if I can render you any service, you may command me. He was bewildered.
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