ler who had
passed through it some years back, on my way to Italy; and the host,
with true innkeeper memory, remembered me perfectly. I was fatter,
or thinner, or browner, or somewhat paler than before, but in other
respects little changed. So, at least, he told me, and I accepted the
description. I reminded him that when I last came through, the chateau
had been a school: was it so still?

"Yes; and Monsieur Jost was still the master, although now very old and
infirm, and, of course, little able to direct it. In fact, he devoted
his time far more to beetles and butterflies than to the boys; and
so most of the scholars had left him, and the school was rapidly
declining."

I turned the conversation on Reichenau itself, and asked in a careless
tone if strangers ever sought it as a residence. He shook his head
sorrowfully, and said rarely, if ever.

"There had," he added, "been one or two families who had fled thither
on the outbreak of the French Revolution, but they had long since taken
their departure. One of them," added he, rising, and opening the window,
"one of them lived yonder, where your Excellency sees that old tower;
and mean as it looks without, I can assure you it is still poorer
within; and yet they were noble,--at least, so it was said here."

"You cannot remember the name?" said I.

"No; but it is written in one of my old ledgers."

"Will you do me the kindness to look for it?" said I, "as these things
have a deep interest for me, since I have known so many of the exiled
families."

It was in no spirit of curiosity that I made this request; I needed
nothing to aid me. There stood the old tower which contained my
play-room; there, the little window at which I have sat, silent and
alone, whole nights long. It was to conceal my emotion that I wished him
away; and scarcely had he left the room, when I hid my face within my
hands and sobbed aloud. The search occupied him some time; and when he
returned, I had recovered myself sufficiently to escape his notice.

"Well, have you found it?" said I.

"Yes, your Excellency, here it is,--in the lady's own writing too."

The words were simply the routine entry of travellers in the
"police-sheet" of the hotel, stating that Madame la Comtesse de Gabriac,
accompanied by _son secretaire_. Monsieur Raper, had passed two days
there, and then departed for------. The word had been written, and then
blotted out.

"For where?" asked I.

"That is the strangest po