On the day we now speak of he was supremely happy. An Irish peer had
come into the Saal leaning on his arm, and twice called him "Dalton"
across the table. The waiter had apologized to a royal highness for not
having better Johannisberg, as the "Schloss" wine had all been reserved
for the "Count," as Peter was styled. He had won four hundred Napoleons
at roulette before dinner; and a bracelet, that cost a hundred and
twenty, was glittering on a fair wrist beside him, while a murmur of his
name in tones of unquestionable adulation, from all parts of the table,
seemed to fill up the measure of his delight.

"What's them places vacant there?" called he out to the waiter, and
pointing to five chairs turned back to the table in token of being
reserved.

"It was an English family had arrived that morning who bespoke them."

"Faix! then, they 're likely to lose soup and fish," said Peter; "the
'coorses' here wait for no man." And as he spoke the party made their
appearance.

A large elderly lady of imposing mien and stately presence led the way,
followed by a younger and slighter figure; after whom walked a very
feeble old man, of a spare and stooping form; the end being brought up
by a little rosy man, with a twinkling eye and a short jerking limp,
that made him seem rather to dance than walk forward.

"They've ca-ca-carried off the soup already," cried the last-mentioned
personage, as he arranged his napkin before him, "and--and--and, I
fa-fancy, the fish, too."

"Be quiet, Scroope," called out the fat lady; "do be quiet."

"Yes, but we shall have to p-p-pay all the same," cried Scroope.

"There 's good sense in that, anyway," broke in Dalton; "will you take
a glass of champagne with me, sir? you 'll find it cool, and not bad of
its kind."

Mr. Purvis acknowledged the courtesy gracefully, and bowed as he drank.

"Take the ortolans to that lady, Fritz," said Dalton to the waiter; and
Mrs. Ricketts smiled her sweetest gratitude.

"We are dreadfully late," sighed she; "but the dear Princess of
Stauffenschwillingen passed all the morning with us, and we could n't
get away."

"I thought it was the woman about the ro-rope dancing detained you."

"Hush, Scroope--will you be quiet? Martha, dearest, don't venture on
those truffles. My poor child, they would be the death of you." And,
so saying, she drew her companion's plate before herself. "A most
agreeable, gentlemanlike person," muttered she, in a whisper, evidently