that all the London world is listening to the
new German singer."

"Your highness treats your future
ambassadors too hardly," Sir Hercules ventured to
interpose.

"Do you think so? Why, I fancied myself
very mild to them, considering what they have
to suffer in other countries when they fail. The
person of an ambassador is sacred in foreign
countries, but in his own he is liable to any
disgrace, his profession ceases to be sacred, and
has no more protection than any other legitimate
trade—eh, M. de Pott? If ambassadors were
sacred their wives ought to be, and yet we have
heard of ladies being sent to Siberia, or at least
accomplishing the first stage of that journey."

"Has your highness never heard of the
English Siberia?" asked the last victim, who,
as only a settler, could afford to be more
courageous than the residents.

"Never," said the grand-duke.

"Let me tell your highness that it is far
worse than our Russian Siberia, of which, as
your highness knows, I have the right to speak.
All ranxs are liable to be sent there, and there
is no appeal against the sentence of banishment."

"No halfway house?" began the duke.

"No, your highness," pursued the lady,
unflinchingly; "the journey has nothing to
enliven it, the return is uncertain and painful, and
the name of the English Siberia is Coventry."

The duke retired from the conflict. "Ah,"
he said, "I know the name; but I prefer
Kesselbad. Were you at Kesselbad this
summer, Madame Perkenstein?"

I did not dare to look at my partner, but to
my surprise I heard her laughing at this
downright attack. It spoke well for the hardihood
of the court ladies at Schweinfett that they
could laugh when the turn came to them, and
do their best to disguise their sufferings.

"Many people lost their money again, I am
told. Fortunately, no cases of suicide. That
must be a comfort to the wives and families. It
is bad enough to lose money, eh? especially
when it is not our own, but life as well, that
would be too bitter."

My companion was still laughing, and the
grand-duke leant forwards, looking at her so
pointedly that I wondered what more he was
going to ask her. I thought she had been
baited quite enough, and she had borne it so
good humouredly, that she ought to be spared.

To my horror, the grand-duke said to her:
"Have you been playing whist lately, Madame
de Wasch-Mugdorff? When did you see your
husbands last?"

I looked at the lady, and the duke, and Sir
Hercules, and the whole truth flashed upon me.
Lady Fitzgig had presented me to the wrong
person!

This was the secret of our cross-questions
and crooked answers; this was what Sir Hercules
endeavoured to convey by his message; this
was what I had so obstinately refused to see, in
spite of all my opportunities. Was ever mortal
man in such a mess? No wonder the countess
was furious and Sir Hercules perplexed. No
wonder the Perkenstein had been laughing at
all my sarcasms, and I had taken her laughter
for hysterical movements. I would have given
anything for any means of escape. If the earth
had opened at our feet and swallowed the
Countess Wasch-Mugdorff, I would willingly
have paid the bills she left behind her. Englishman
as I am, I would have sacrificed the liberty
of the press and all constitutional forms of
government for an immediate Prussian invasion.

None came in answer to my prayers. I saw
the grand-duke moving in his chair, adjusting
his sword-belt, and feeling for his helmet. He
was about to leave after saying all the unpleasant
things he could think of, and his departure
would be the signal for my immolation. I was
beginning to despair of Providence, when help
came from an unexpected quarter. At Schweinfett,
as in many other German towns, a procession
of drummers goes round in the evening,
and beats an excruciating tattoo. While I was
racking my brains for a means of delivery,
this abominable noise struck up under the window,
and for once in my life I blessed it instead
of cursing. I hit on an expedient at once;
I sprang to my feet with a face of terror, and
shrieked out, "The Prussian drums!"

Not a soul of the company but knew the old
familiar sound; yet alarm is so contagious that
not one of them stopped to think; all sprang up
and rushed towards the window, and I bolted
like a shot through a side doorway. There was
fortunately a night train. I did not stop till I
got to London. The report I spread of the
occupation of Schweinfett by a Prussian army
had not that depressing effect upon Consols
which was intended.

           NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS.
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
            "Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
Now publishing, PART XI., price 1s., of
                OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
               BY CHARLES DICKENS.
         IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
     With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

In Number 313, to be published on the 19th of April, will
         be commenced a new Serial Novel, entitled
                  HALF A MILLION OF MONEY,
                    By AMELIA B. EDWARDS,
             Author of "BARBARA'S HISTORY."