wn. I, of course, invited her to have a
glass of wine. We soon finished that bottle and ordered another. We had
what was to me a most amusing talk. She was a character--had been
everywhere and spoke all the modern languages. She assured me that I was
a very charming gentleman. In paying my bill I incautiously displayed a
gold piece or two, and, seeing she was going to ask me to give her one,
I saved her the trouble by placing one in her hand. In time we became
quite good friends. Twice I paid her board bill in order to rescue her
wardrobe from the clutches of her landlord, and once I saved her from
the hands of an irate washerwoman. When, after a time, I left Wiesbaden,
I left her as gay, as prosperous and as extravagant as ever.

I did not see Wiesbaden again for over two years, but the second week
of January, 1873, found me there. The Prussian Government now ruled in
the town, and refused to renew the license of M. Blanc. It had expired
fourteen days before my arrival. What a change had fallen on the town!
The Casino was gloomy and cold, the gay crowds had fled. All the life
and movement of the street and promenade was forever a thing of the
past. I had located there simply as a precaution, disposing of large
amounts of bonds in Frankfort, fifteen miles away, and returning to
Wiesbaden each night. At this time I put up at the Hotel Victoria, near
the railroad station. One Saturday, going up to Frankfort rather late,
my business detained me until after dark. On reaching the station I
happened to look into the third-class waiting-room, and there I spied a
figure alone that looked familiar. I soon recognized the Countess. From
her appearance and surroundings it was plain that there was now no
wealthy lover at her beck and call. Because she looked so unhappy I gave
her a cordial greeting, which she returned rather wearily. It was very
cold, and I was clad in furs from head to foot; besides, I was,
apparently, on the full floodtide of fortune, having with me then a very
large sum of money, some of which she could have had for the asking.

I said: "Come, Countess; let us go together first class to Wiesbaden."
She replied that she lived at Bieberich, a small town on the Rhine, four
miles below Mayence, and four miles from Wiesbaden. As the train was
starting I bade her good-bye, but asked permission to call on her the
next day. She consented, giving her address as Hotel Bellevue.

The next morning was very cold, but I enjoy