She could think of nothing better than an appeal to the stranger's good feeling, since he, at least, could get into another carriage without any difficulty. And, no doubt, he had made a mistake in entering this carriage instead of the next one. She remembered now to have noticed that the next compartment was a smoking-compartment, and probably in his hurry he had mistaken the doors.
He looked a gentleman, Lily decided, although she immediately discovered that he was a very odd-looking man, too: while certainly his mode of entrance had not been over-courteous. Still, she felt perfectly sure that he would be willing to move himself rather than put her to such inconvenience and discomfort.
"Pardon me," she said, with timid courage, "but I think you have made a mistake? This is not a smoking-carriage."
There was something really extremely old in the appearance of this foreign-looking man, who might be French, who might be Italian; who wore a soft hat, a voluminous "bat's-wing" cape, and a sparse, stubbly black beard. There was something odd and repellent, too, in the damp white skin, the thick black eyebrows, the black, flickering, staring eyes, which were now fixed upon her, and which filled her with nervous trepidations.
He took his cigar from his mouth when she had begun to speak, and one corner of his upper lip drew back in an ugly way, reminding her of some ill-tempered dog.
"You object to me smoking?" he asked, speaking with a strong foreign accent, in a hard, curious, unmodulated voice.
"Well—yes, I do," said Lily, bravely. "It makes me feel ill, and that is why I came into this carriage, which is not a smoking-carriage. But there is a smoking compartment on that side, next door. You will have time to change, if you are quick. Please, please, be quick, and change!"
But the stranger merely put back his cigar between his teeth, and continued to turn on her a fierce and flickering gaze.
"You object to me smoking?" he repeated, just as before. "You make me observations? You tell me go into anuzzer carriage? Now, look he-aire."
He slipped a hand into a pocket beneath his cloak and produced a tiny revolver, which he laid beside him on the arm of the seat, keeping his hand upon it.
"I allow no one in ze world to interfere wiz me, to make me remarks, and I carry this about wiz me," he pointed the weapon straight at Lily's face, "to give a lesson to those peoples who do not let me alone."
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"HE POINTED THE WEAPON STRAIGHT AT LILY'S FACE."
At first Lily had gone crimson with surprise at being spoken to in such a manner. Never in the world had any man answered her with such rudeness before. But when he produced the pistol, then she had felt the warm
