He spread out the rough garb before me.  I glanced at it carelessly.

“Did the former wearer kill his wife’” I asked, with a slight smile.

The old rag-picker shook his head and made a sign with his outspread fingers expressive of contempt.

“Not he!—­He was a fool—­He killed himself”

“How was that?  By accident or design?”

“Che!  Che!  He knew very well what he was doing.  It happened only two months since.  It was for the sake of a black-eyed jade, she lives and laughs all day long up at Sorrento.  He had been on a long voyage, he brought her pearls for her throat and coral pins for her hair.  She had promised to marry him.  He had just landed, he met her on the quay, he offered her the pearl and coral trinkets.  She threw them back and told him she was tired of him.  Just that—­nothing more.  He tried to soften her; she raged at him like a tiger-cat.  Yes, I was one of the little crowd that stood round them on the quay, I saw it all.  Her black eyes flashed, she stamped and bit her lips at him, her full bosom heaved as though it would burst her laced bodice.  She was only a market-girl, but she gave herself the airs of a queen.  ‘I am tired of you!’ she said to him.  ’Go!  I wish to see you no more.’  He was tall and well-made, a powerful fellow; but he staggered, his face grew pale, his lips quivered.  He bent his head a little—­turned—­and before any hand could stop him he sprung from the edge of the quay into the waves, they closed over his head, for he did not try to swim; he just sunk down, down, like a stone.  Next day his body came ashore, and I bought his clothes for two francs; you shall have them for four.”

“And what became of the girl?” I asked.

“Oh, she!  She laughs all day long, as I told you.  She has a new lover every week.  What should she care?”

I drew out my purse.  “I will take this suit,” I said.  “You ask four francs, here are six, but for the extra two you must show me some private corner where I can dress.”

“Yes, yes.  But certainly!” and the old fellow trembled all over with avaricious eagerness as I counted the silver pieces into his withered palm.  “Anything to oblige a generous stranger!  There is the place I sleep in; it is not much, but there is a mirror—­her mirror--the only thing I keep of hers; come this way, come this way!”

And stumbling hastily along, almost falling over the disordered bundles of clothing that lay about in all directions, he opened a little door that seemed to be cut in the wall, and led me into a kind of close cupboard, smelling most vilely, and furnished with a miserable pallet bed and one broken chair.  A small square pane of glass admitted light enough to see all that there was to be seen, and close to this extemporized window hung the mirror alluded to, a beautiful thing set in silver of antique workmanship, the costliness of which I at once recognized, though into the glass itself I dared not for the moment look.  The old man showed me with some pride that the door to this narrow den of his locked from within.