You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. Drink, and no sustaining food. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps.
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