CHILDISH NONSENSE
V. SHE IS NOT FOR YOU
VI. BRINGING HOME THE BRIDE
VII. THE CAVERN OF LUCSIA
VIII. STRONG JUON
IX. THE GEINA MAID-MARKET
X. THE BLACK JEWELRY
XI. TWO TALES, OF WHICH ONLY ONE IS TRUE
XII. THE SOIREES AT ARAD
XIII. TIT FOR TAT
XIV. THE MIKALAI CSARDA
XV. WHO IT WAS THAT RECOGNIZED FATIA NEGRA
XVI. LEANDER BABEROSSY
XVII. MR. MARGARI
XVIII. THE UNDISCOVERABLE LADY
XIX. THE SHAKING HAND
XX. THE FIGHT FOR THE GOLD
XXI. THE HUNTED BEAST
XXII. THE SIGHT OF TERROR
XXIII. THE ACCOMMODATION
XXIV. CONCLUSION
POOR PLUTOCRATS
CHAPTER I
BOREDOM
"Was it you who yawned so, Clementina?"
Nobody answered.
The questioner was an old gentleman in his eightieth year or so, dressed
in a splendid flowered silk Kaftan, with a woollen night-cap on his
head, warm cotton stockings on his feet, and diamond, turquoise, and
ruby rings on his fingers. He was reclining on an atlas ottoman, his
face was as wooden as a mummy's, a mere patch-work of wrinkles, he had a
dry, thin, pointed nose, shaggy, autumnal-yellow eyebrows, and his large
prominent black eyes protected by irritably sensitive eyelids, lent
little charm to his peculiar cast of countenance.
"Well! Will nobody answer? Who yawned so loudly behind my back just
now?" he asked again, with an angry snort. "Will nobody answer?"
Nobody answered, and yet there was a sufficient number of people in the
room to have found an answer between them.
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