e-aged and
comely, entered; and, passing Beecher by with the indifference he might
have bestowed on a piece of furniture, advanced to where Lizzy was
standing, and, taking her band, pressed it reverently to his lips.

So far from resenting the liberty, she smiled most courteously on him,
and motioned to him to take a seat on the sofa beside her.

"I can't stand this, by Jove!" said Beecher, aloud; while, with an
assumption of courage his heart little responded to, he walked straight
up to the stranger. "You understand English, I hope?" said he, in very
indifferent French.

"Not a syllable," replied the other, in the same language.

"I only know 'All right';" and he laughed pleasantly as he uttered the
words in an imitation of English.

"Come, I 'll not torture you any longer," said Lizzy, laughing; "read
_that_." And she handed him the card, whereon, in her father's writing,
there was, "See the Count; he'll tell you everything.--C. D."

"I have heard the name before.--Count Lienstahl," said Beecher to
himself. "Has he seen your father? Where is he?" asked he, eagerly.

"He'll inform me on all, if you'll just give him time," said she; while
the Count, with an easy volubility, was pouring out a flow of words
perfectly unintelligible to poor Beecher.

Whether it was the pleasure of the tidings he brought, or the delicious
enjoyment of once more hearing and replying in that charming tongue that
she loved so dearly, but Lizzy ceased even to look at Beecher, and only
occupied herself with her new acquaintance.

[Illustration: 384]

Now, while we leave her thus pleasantly engaged, let us present the
visitor to our reader.

Nothing could be less like the traditional "Continental Count" than the
plump, close-shaven, blue-eyed gentlemen who sat beside Lizzy Davis,
with an expression of _bonhomie_ in his face that might have graced a
squire of Devon. He was neither frogged nor moustached; his countenance
neither boded ill to the Holy Alliance, nor any close intimacy with
billiards or dice-boxes. A pleasant, easy-tempered, soft-natured man
he seemed, with a ready smile and a happy laugh, and an air of yielding
good-humor about him that appeared to vouch for his being one none need
ever dispute with. If there were few men less generally known throughout
Europe, there was not one whose origin, family, fortune, and belonging
were wrapped in more complete obscurity. Some said he was a Pomeranian,
others called him a Swede;