to get him out of the way, made him a definite
proposition to pay all his debts, and give him a handsome surplus
for travelling expenses, if he would consent to vanish from the
kingdom for a stated term of years. And according to all
appearances Dannevig has been fool enough to accept the offer. I
should not be surprised if you would hear from him before long, in
which case I trust you will keep me informed of his movements. A
Knight of Dannebrog, you know, is too conspicuous a figure to be
entirely lost beneath the waves of your all-levelling democracy.
Depend upon it, if Dannevig were stranded upon a desert isle, he
would in some way contrive to make the universe aware of his
existence. He has, as you know, no talent for obscurity; there is a
spark of a Caesar in him, and I tremble for the fate of your
constitution if he stays long enough among you."

Four months elapsed after the receipt of this letter, and I had almost
given up the expectation (I will not say hope) of seeing Dannevig,
when one morning the door to my office was opened, and a tall,
blonde-haired man entered. With a certain reckless grace, which ought
to have given me the clue to his identity, he sauntered up to my desk
and extended his hand to me.

"Hallo, old boy!" he said, with a weak, weary smile. "How are you
prospering? You don't seem to know me."

"Heavens!" I cried, "Dannevig! No, I didn't know you. How you have
altered!"

He took off his hat, and flung himself into a chair opposite me. His
large, irresponsible eyes fixed themselves upon mine, with a
half-daring, half-apologetic look, as if he were resolved to put the
best face on a desperate situation. His once so ambitious mustache
drooped despondingly, and his unshaven face had an indescribably
withered and dissipated look. All the gloss seemed to have been taken
off it, and with it half its beauty and all its dignity had departed.

"Dannevig," I said, with all the sympathy I had at my command, "what
_has_ happened to you? Am I to take your word for it, that you have
quarrelled with all the world, and that this is your last refuge?"

"Well," he answered, evasively, "I should hardly say that. It is
rather your detestable democratic cookery which has undone me. I
haven't had a decent meal since I set my foot on this accursed
continent. There is an all-pervading plebeian odor of republicanism
about everything one eats here, which is enough to ruin