“Who are these two men dressed in black, walking arm in arm?” asked the stranger.  “They appear to be clergymen.”

“Yes, sir,” replied his conductor, “so they are; two celebrated polemical controversialists, who, when they were at large, created by their attacks, each upon the religion of the other, more ill-will, rancor and religious animosity, than either of their religions, with all their virtues, could remove.  It is impossible to describe the evil they did.  Ever since they came here, however, they are like brothers.  They were placed in the same room, each in a strong strait-waistcoat, for the space of three months; but on being allowed to walk about, they became sworn friends, and now amuse themselves more than any other two in the establishment.  They indulge in immoderate fits of laughter, look each other knowingly in the face, wink, and run the forefinger up the nose, after which their mirth bursts out afresh, and they laugh until the tears come down their cheeks.”

The stranger, who during all this time was on the lookout for poor Fenton, as was old Corbet, could observe nobody who resembled him in the least.

“Have you females in your establishment?” he asked.

“No, sir,” replied the gentleman; “but we are about to open an asylum for them in a detached building, which is in the course of being erected.  Would you wish to hear any further details of these unhappy beings,” he asked.

“No, sir,” replied the stranger.  “You are very kind and obliging, but I have heard enough for the present.  Have you a person named Fenton in your establishment?”

“Not, sir, that I know of; he may be here, though; but you had better inquire from the proprietor himself, who—­mark me, sir—­I say—­harkee—­you have humanity in your face—­will probably refuse to tell you whether he is here or not, or deny him altogether.  Harkee, again, sir—­the fellow is a villain—­that is, entre nous, but mum’s the word between us.”

“I am sorry,” replied the stranger, “to hear such a character of him from you, who should know him.”

“Well, sir,” replied the other, “let that pass—­verbum sap.  And now tell me, when have you been at the theater?”

“Not for some months,” returned the other.

“Have you ever heard Catalani shake?”

“Yes,” replied the stranger.  “I have had that pleasure.”

“Well, sir, I’m delighted that you have heard her, for there is but one man living who can rival her in the shake; and, sir, you have the honor of addressing that man.”

This was said so mildly, calmly, rationally, and with that gentlemanlike air of undoubted respectability, which gives to an assertion such an impress of truth, that the stranger, confused as he was by what he had seen, felt it rather difficult to draw the line at the moment, especially in such society, between a sane man and an insane one.

“Would you wish, sir,” said the guide, “to hear a specimen of my powers?”