hat Mariane--but that it was the gracious baroness who had
given him the best herself, namely, a whole basket of celery for the
gentleman. Albert did not know why such an unreasonable quantity of
vegetable food should be served, and was highly delighted, when Paul
Talkebarth brought the basket, which contained--not celery--but six
bottles of the finest _vin de Sillery_.

While Albert was enjoying himself, Victor narrated how he had come to
the estate of the Baron von E----.

The fatigues of the first campaign (1813), which had often proved too
much for the strongest constitutions, had ruined Victor's health. The
waters at Aix-la-Chapelle would, he hoped, restore him, and he was
residing there when Bonaparte's flight from Elba gave the signal for a
new and sanguinary contest. When preparations were making for the
campaign, Victor received orders from the _Residence_ to join the army
on the Lower Rhine, if his health permitted; but fate allowed him no
more than a ride of four or five leagues. Just before the gate of the
house in which the friends now were, Victor's horse, which had usually
been the surest and most fearless animal in the world, and had been
tried in the wildest tumults of battle, suddenly took fright, and
reared, and Victor fell--to use his own words--like a schoolboy who has
mounted a horse for the first time. He lay insensible, while the blood
flowed from a severe wound in his head, which he had struck against a
sharp stone. He was carried into the house, and here, as removal
seemed dangerous, he was forced to remain till the time of his
recovery, which did not yet seem complete, since, although the wound
had been long healed, he was weakened by the attacks of fever. Victor
spoke of the care and attention which the baroness had bestowed upon
him in terms of the warmest gratitude.

"Well," cried Albert, laughing aloud, "for this I was not prepared. I
thought you were going to tell me something very extraordinary, and
now, lo, and behold--don't be offended--the whole affair seems to turn
out a silly sort of story, like those that have been so worn out in a
hundred stupid novels, that nobody with decency can have any thing to
do with such adventures. The wounded knight is borne into the castle,
the mistress of the house tends him, and he becomes a tender _Amoroso_.
For, Victor, that you, in spite of your good taste hitherto, in spite
of your whole mode of life, should all of a sudden fall in love