red;
and that I watched the post each day with an anxious heart for means to
relieve me from certain trifling debts I had incurred, and enable me to
proceed on my journey.

The count listened with the most patient attention to my story, only
interfering once or twice when some difficulty demanded explanation, and
then suffering me to proceed to the end. Then leisurely withdrawing a
pocket-book from the breast of his frock, he opened it slowly.

'My dear young friend,' said he, in a measured and almost solemn tone,
'every hour that a man is in debt is a year spent in slavery. Your
creditor is your master; it matters not whether a kind or a severe one,
the sense of obligation you incur saps the feeling of manly independence
which is the first charm of youth--and, believe me, it is always through
the rents in moral feeling that our happiness oozes out quickest. Here
are five thousand francs; take as much as you want. With a friend, and I
insist upon you believing me to be such, these things have no character
of obligation: I accommodate you to-day; you do the same for me
to-morrow. And now put these notes in your pocket; I see madame is
waiting for us.'

For a second or two I felt so overpowered I could not speak. The
generous confidence and friendly interest of one so thoroughly a
stranger were too much for my astonished and gratified mind. At last
I recovered myself enough to reply, and assuring my worthy friend that
when I spoke of my debts they were in reality merely trifling ones; that
I had still ample funds in my banker's hands for all necessary outlay,
and that by the next post, perhaps, my long-wished-for letter might
arrive.

'And if it should not?' interposed he, smiling.

'Why then the next day----'

'And if not then?' continued he, with a half-quizzing look at my
embarrassment.

'Then your five thousand francs shall tremble for it.'

'That's a hearty fellow!' cried he, grasping my hand in both of his;
'and now I feel I was not deceived in you. My first meeting with
Metternich was very like this. I was at Presburg in the year 1804, just
before the campaign of Austerlitz opened--'

'You are indeed most gallant, messieurs,' said the countess, opening the
door, and peeping in. 'Am I to suppose that cigars and maraschino are
better company than mine?'

We rose at once to make our excuses; and thus I lost the story of
Prince Metternich, in which I already felt an uncommon interest from the
similarity o