As for the other members of the company, he found “the indifferent rider,” known as Signor Antonio Martinelli, an undoubted Irishman of about thirty years of age, extremely handsome, but with a certain “shiftiness” of the eye which was far from inspiring confidence, and with a trick of the tongue which suggested that his baptismal certificate probably bore the name of Anthony Martin.  He found, too, that all he had heard regarding the youth and beauty of the chevalier’s second wife was quite correct, and although she devoted herself a great deal to the Brazilian coffee planter and the Irish-Italian “Martinelli,” she had a way of looking over at her middle-aged spouse, without his knowledge, that left no doubt in Cleek’s mind regarding the real state of her feelings towards the man.  And last, but not least by any means, he found the chevalier himself a frank, open-minded, open-hearted, lovable man who ought not, in the natural order of things, to have an enemy in the world.  Despite his high-falutin’ nom de theatre, he was Belgian—­a big, soft-hearted, easy-going, unsuspicious fellow, who worshipped his wife, adored his children, and loved every creature of the animal world.

How well that love was returned, Cleek saw when he went with him to that part of the building where his animals were kept, and watched them “nose” his hand or lick his cheek whenever the opportunity offered.  But Nero, the lion, was perhaps the greatest surprise of all, for so tame, so docile, so little feared was the animal, that its cage-door was open, and they found one of the attendants squatting cross-legged inside and playing with it as though it were a kitten.

“There he is, doctor,” said the chevalier, waving his hand towards the beast.  “Ah, I will not believe that it was anything but an accident, sir.  He loved my boy.  He would hurt no one that is kind to him.  Fetch him out, Tom, and let the doctor see him at close quarters.”

Despite all these assurances of the animal’s docility, Cleek could not but remember what the creature had done, and, in consequence, did not feel quite at ease when it came lumbering out of the cage with the attendant and ranged up alongside of him, rubbing its huge head against the chevalier’s arm after the manner of an affectionate cat.

“Don’t be frightened, sir,” said Tom, noticing this.  “Nothing more’n a big dog, sir.  Had the care of him for eight years, I have—­haven’t I, chevalier?—­and never a growl or scratch out of him.  No ‘smile’ for your old Tom, is there, Nero, boy, eh?  No fear!  Ain’t a thing as anybody does with him, sir, that I wouldn’t do off-hand and feel quite safe.”

“Even to putting your head in his mouth?” queried Cleek.

“Lord yes!” returned the man, with a laugh.  “That’s nothing.  Done it many a day.  Look here!” With that he pulled the massive jaws apart, and, bending down, laid his head within them.  The lion stood perfectly passive, and did not offer to close his mouth until it was again empty.  It was then that Cleek remembered and glanced round at young Scarmelli.