e past and future--a pageant as it were, robed in
cloth of gold and purple, and laurel-crowned, swept by him; and the
glory of being preeminent among his fellow-men flashed upon his soul.
If he should fail--. A cold damp settled on his brow at the thought,
for in that event all his time had been thrown away, and there was
no possibility of his meeting his various engagements. It was not one
Hoffman but many that beset him, although Hoffman was truly the most
avaricious of his tribe, where all were greedy. And then, as he gazed
on the lovely countenance by his side, he thought of the affection
which had resigned all luxury, and, far above all luxury, that
consideration which women so prize, for him, and that he had brought
her to a home where she had to deny herself many of those comforts
to which she had been accustomed. He regretted the deed. Still more
did he regret the time that he had that night wasted, and the money
that he had squandered; but it was too late for repentance. All
that he could now do was to nerve his energies for the toil of
the morrow--that morrow which comes to all men, the faith of the
procrastinator, the hope of the sufferer, the mercy of the unbeliever.

He awoke in the morning with renewed resolution, but his brow was
still heated with the dissipation of the previous night, and his hand
shook as he applied himself to his work. After a couple of hours,
however, when Marguerite had taken her place by his side, he forgot
Dantzic, Carl, and Krantz, all the annoyances which threatened him. He
was absorbed in his pursuit, and Marguerite was looking over with her
attention not less absorbed than his own, when to their astonishment
the magnificent carriage, with the heavy, sleek, overfed horses, of
the Count Albrecht, rolled up to the door.

"Look here, Dumiger," exclaimed Marguerite, running to the window with
a woman's curiosity flushing her cheek. "Here is the Grand Master's
carriage--what can he be doing at this house?"

"He must be calling on the new arrivals who took the apartments on
the first-floor yesterday," said Dumiger, scarcely looking up from his
work, on which all his attention was concentrated.

"They are beautiful horses, and the manes and tails are decorated with
ribands which would furnish me with sashes for a whole life," thought
Marguerite; but she avoided giving utterance to her feeling, lest
Dumiger should interpret it into an expression of regret at having
given up the pros