riving away amid the merry peals of the post-horn.

"Julius," murmured the steward, softly, "give my hair a good pulling,
that I may awake from this horrible dream."

"I cannot," he whimpered, "my hands and feet are lame. I cannot move."

"I will," said the hostler, courageously stretching forth his hand, and
pulling it so vigorously that the steward was fully convinced of the
reality of things.

Again the post-horn sounded the "Drei Reuter;" again the carriage
stopped before the door, and the count descended, giving to every one a
gift like the "Maedchen aus der Fremde," and for the sixth time rolled
away.

"We are bewitched; it is a ghost from the infernal regions!" groaned the
steward.

"I cannot abide it any longer--I shall die!" said the second waiter.

"I do not mind it," said the hostler, as he jingled the money; "if they
are ghosts from hell, the eight groschen do not come from there, for
they are quite cool. See how--Ah, there comes the count again!"

For the seventh time he passed down the stairway, by the servants, who
wore no longer standing but kneeling, which the count received as a
proof of their profound respect, and slipped the money into their hands.

"Praise God, all good spirits!" murmured the head waiter; but neither
the count nor the money seemed to be moved by the pious exhortation,
for he quietly entered his carriage, and the eight groschen lay in the
servant's hand, at which the hostler remarked that he would stand there
all night if the count would only continually pass by with groschen.
It pleased the count to descend the stairs yet twice more, divide the
trinkgeld, and mount his carriage. As he drove away the ninth time, it
appeared as if the Drei Reuter were determined to drive out of the gate
and forsake the hotel "King of Portugal." The host waited awhile, and
talked with the neighbors, who, roused by the continual blast of the
post-horn, were curious to know how it happened that so many guests were
departing by extra posts. Whereupon the host, in a hollow, sepulchral
voice, his eyes glaring, and shrugging his shoulders, declared that
there had been but one gentleman at the hotel, but nine times he had
seen him drive away, and the devil must have a hand in the matter!

Shaking his head, he returned to the hotel, and found the servants
busily counting their money, occasionally casting covetous looks toward
the stairs, as if they hoped the count would again descend.

Exactly as C