I cannot attempt to describe my feelings on awaking, nor the lamentable failure of all my efforts at recalling the events of the night before. That many real occurrences seemed to me the mere effects of wine and a heated imagination, and that some of the very wildest freaks of my fancy were assumed by me as facts, I can now readily believe. In truth, my head was in a state of the wildest credulity and the very narrowest distrust, and my only astonishment now is, how I resisted impulses plainly suggested by coming insanity.

At one time I thought of calling O'Kelly out; then my indignation was directed against some other of the company, for either a real or a fancied grievance. Perhaps they had all been in the league against me, and that I had been invited merely to make a sport of my absurd pretensions, and to afford laughter by my vanity. Then it occurred to me that it was the Prince himself who was insulted by my companionship, and that they who had dared to make me the means of such an outrage should be held accountable.

Lastly came the thought, Is the whole a dream? Have I been drugged to play some absurd and ridiculous part, and shall I be exposed to ridicule when I appear abroad again? This impression was strengthened by the appearance of my dress, so unlike anything I had ever worn before. Of the incidents of the card-table I could remember next to nothing. A few trivial facts of the game, an accidental event in the play itself, remained in my memory, but that was all. I fancied I had been a heavy loser; but how, when, or to whom, I knew not. I opened my pocket-book, and found four notes for fifty pounds each; but how they came there I could not conceive! And yet, said I, all this took place yesterday! and what was I before that?—where did I live, and with whom associate? My head began to turn, the strangest thoughts chased each other through my brain. Incidents of the street, collisions and accidents of all kinds, were mingled with events of the previous evening; want and squalor stood side by side with splendor, and the bland accents of royalty blended themselves with the brutal exclamations of my former fellows. Then there flashed across me the thought that the drama in which I had been made to perform was not yet played out. They mean me to figure further on the boards, said I to myself; the money has been supplied to me to tempt me into extravagance which shall make me even more ridiculous still. My every action watched, my words listened to, my gestures noted down, I am to be the butt of their sarcastic pleasure, and all my pretensions to the' habits, the feelings, and the manners of a gentleman be held up as a subject for mockery and derision.

I half dreaded to ring the bell and summon the waiter, lest I should be exposing myself to a spy on my actions. When I approached the window to look out, I fancied that every accidental glance of a passer-by was the prying gaze of insolent curiosity. It was in a state of fever that I dressed myself; and even then my costume of full dinner dress made me feel ashamed to venture abroad. At last I took courage to order breakfast. The respectful demeanor of the waiter gave me further confidence, and I ventured to ask him a few questions on passing events. I learned that the hotel was one usually frequented by foreigners, for whose accommodation two or three Continental newspapers were taken. At my request he fetched me one of these,—“La Gazette de Paris;” and with this for my companion, I sat myself down at my fire, resolved to remain a close prisoner for at least a day or two.

Towards evening I sent for a tailor and ordered two suits of clothes, with linen, and, in fact, all that I stood in need of; and when night set in, I issued forth to make several small purchases of articles I wanted. It was late when I entered the hotel, and, not having eaten any dinner, I felt hungry. The waiter showed me into the coffee-room, which was arrayed in foreign fashion, and where they supped À la carte.

The general appearance of the company at once proclaimed their origin; and a less practised eye than mine even, might have seen that they were all natives of some Continental country. They talked loudly and gesticulated wildly, careless to all seeming of being overheard by strangers, and little regarding in whose presence they might be standing. Their bearing was, in fact, such as speedily set me at ease amongst them, and made me feel myself unnoticed and unremarked.

Seated at a small table by myself, I ordered my supper, and half carelessly watched the others while it was being prepared. Whatever they might have been by birth or station, they seemed now all in the very narrowest circumstances. Threadbare coats and broken boots, worn hats and gloveless hands, bespoke their condition; nor could all the swagger of manner, or pretentious display of a ribbon or a cross, cover over the evidences of real poverty that oppressed them.

Had I noticed these signs earlier, I should certainly have restricted myself to a meal more befitting the place and its occupants. The humble suppers I saw around me of bread and cheese now shocked me at what might well appear display on my part; and had there been time to correct my error, I should gladly have done so. It was, however, too late. Already had the landlord carried in a silver tureen of soup, and set it before me; and the tall neck of a champagne bottle rose amidst the mimic icebergs at my side.

The others took no pains to hide their astonishment at all this; they stood in knots and groups about, with eyes directed full upon me, and as evidently made me the subject of their remarks. I could perceive that the landlord was far from being at his ease, and that all his endeavors were employed either to conceal from me these demonstrations, or to give them some harmless interpretation.

“You have travelled, sir, and know well what foreigners are,” said he, in a whisper; “and although all these are gentlemen by birth, from one misfortune or other they are a bit down in the world now, and they look with jealousy at any one better off than themselves.”

“Foreigners are usually better bred than to exhibit such feelings,” said I.

“Nor would they, perhaps, sir, if at home and in prosperity; but so many are ruined now by wars and revolutions—so many banished and exiled—that one ought to make large allowances for their tempers. That old man yonder, for instance, was a duke somewhere in Brittany; and the thin, tall one, that is gesticulating with his stick, served as colonel in the bodyguard of the King of France. And there, next the fire,—you see he has taken off a kind of smock-frock and is drying it at the blaze,—that is a Pomeranian count who owned a principality once, they tell me.”

“He looks very poor now; what means of support has he?”

“None, I believe, sir; he was bred to nothing, and can neither teach drawing, nor music, nor the sword-exercise, like Frenchmen or Italians; and the consequence is, that he actually—you 'll not believe it, but it is true, notwithstanding—he actually sweeps a crossing at Cheapside for his living.”

I started, as he said this, as if I had been stung by a reptile. For a moment I was convinced that the speech was a designed insult. I thought that the very expression of his eyes as he turned them on me was malignant. It was all I could do not to resent the insolence; but I restrained myself and was silent.

“Heaven knows,” continued he, “if he have eaten once to-day.”

“Do you think,” said I, “it would be possible to induce him to join me at supper,—I mean, could it be managed without offence?”

“Egad! I should say so, sir, and easily enough, too. These poor fellows have gone through too much to carry any excess of pride about with them.”

“Would you undertake the office, then?” asked I.

“With pleasure, sir;” and, as he spoke, he crossed the room, and, standing over the old man's chair, whispered in his ear. I soon perceived, by the manner of each, that the negotiation was not as simple as he had fancied it. Remark, reply, and rejoinder seemed to follow each other quickly; and I could almost detect something like an insolent rejection of the landlord's suit in the old man's manner. Indeed, I had not long to remain in doubt on the subject; for, rising from his seat, the Count addressed some hurried words to those about him, to which they replied by expressions of anger and astonishment. In vain the landlord interposed, and tried to calm down their impatience; they grew more and more excited, and I could detect expressions of insulting meaning through what they uttered.

“What is the matter?” asked I of the landlord; but ere he could reply, a tall, dark man, with the marked physiognomy of a Pole, came up to me and said,—

“The Graf von Bildstein has received a grave provocation at your hands: are you prepared to justify it?”

“I must first of all learn how I may have offended him,” said I, calmly.

“We all of us heard it,” said he, impatiently; “you insulted every man in this room through him. Either, then, you leave it at once [and he pointed insolently to the door], or you give him satisfaction.”

The only reply I made to this speech was a haughty laugh, as I filled my glass with champagne. I had but done so when, with a blow of his cane, he swept my bottle and the glasses from the table; and then, stepping back and drawing a sword from the stick, threw himself into an attitude of defence. I drew my sword and rushed in on him. Either that he was not a skilful fencer, or unprepared for the suddenness of my attack, he defended himself badly; his guards were all wide, and his eyes unsteady. I felt my advantage in a moment, and, after a couple of passes, ran my point through his side, just close to the ribs. A loud cry from the bystanders, as the blood gushed forth, now stopped the encounter, and they speedily dashed forward to catch him as he reeled and fell.

“Away with you, for Heaven's sake, or you are a murdered man,” cried the landlord to me, while he pushed me violently from the room and out into the street, barring and bolting the door within, at the same instant. The terrible clamor inside, and the efforts to force a passage, now warned me of my danger, and I fled at the very top of my speed, not knowing nor caring whither. I had gone considerably above a mile ere I ventured to halt and draw breath. I was in a part of the city with narrow streets and tall warehouses, dark, gloomy, and solitary; a small, mean-looking alley led me down to the river's side, from which I could perceive the Tower quite close, and a crowd of shipping in the stream. A small schooner, with a foresail alone set, was just getting under way, and as she slowly moved along, boats came and went from the shore to her.

“Want to go aboard, sir?” asked a waterman, who observed me as I stood watching the movement of the craft. I nodded, and the next moment we were alongside. I asked for the skipper, and heard that he was to join us at Gravesend. The mate politely said I might go below; and, accepting the permission, I descended to the cabin, and lay down on a bench. A boy was cleaning plates and glasses in a little nook at one side, and from him I learned that the schooner was the “Martha,” of Hull, bound for Cherbourg; her captain was her owner, and usually traded between the English coast and the Channel Islands. At all events, thought I, I am safe out of England; and with that reflection I turned on my side and went off to sleep.

Just as day broke, the skipper came on board, and I could perceive, by the gushing noise beside my ear, that we were going fast through the water. The craft lay over, too, and seemed as if under a press of canvas. It was not for full an hour afterwards that the skipper descended to the cabin, and, shaking me roughly by the shoulder, asked how I came there.

I had gone asleep concocting a story to account for my presence; and so I told him in a few words that I had just been engaged in a duel wherein I had wounded my antagonist; that as the event had occurred suddenly, I had no time for any preparation, but just threw myself on board the first craft about to sail, ready and willing to pay liberally for the succor it afforded me.

Either he disbelieved my narrative, or fancied that it might involve himself in some trouble, for he doggedly said I had no right to come aboard of her without his leave, and that he should certainly put in at Ramsgate and hand me over to the authorities.

“Be it so,” said I, with an affected indifference. “The greater fool you not to earn fifty guineas for a kind office than go out of your way to do a churlish one.”

He left me at this to go up on deck, and came down again about half an hour later. I heard enough to convince me that the wind was freshening, and that a heavy sea, too, was getting up, so that in all likelihood he would hesitate ere he 'd try to put in at Ramsgate. He did not speak to me this time, but sat with folded arms watching me as I lay pretending to be asleep. At length he said,—

“I say, friend, you 've got no passport, I suppose? How do you mean to land in France? or, if there, how do you propose to travel?”

“These are matters I don't mean to trouble you about, Captain,” said I, haughtily; and though I said the words boldly enough, it was exactly the very puzzle that was then working in my brain.

“Ay, sir; but they are exactly matters that concern me; for you are not on the schooner's manifest,—you are not one of her crew,—and I don't mean to get into trouble on your behalf.”

“Put me ashore at night, or leave me to reach it in any way,” said I, half angrily; for I was well-nigh out of patience at these everlasting difficulties.

He made no reply to this speech, but starting suddenly up, like a man who had hastily made up his mind on some particular course, he went up on deck. I overheard orders given, and immediately after a stir and bustle among the sailors, and in my anxiety at once connected myself with these movements. What project had they regarding me? In what way did they mean to treat me?—were the questions that rose to my mind. The heavy working of the craft showed me that her course had been altered, and I began to dread lest we should be turning again towards England.

From these thoughts my mind wandered back and back, reviewing the chief events of my life, and wondering whether I were ever destined to reach one spot that I could rest in, and where my weary spirit might find peace. To be the sport of Fortune in her most wilful of moods seemed, indeed, my lot; and to go on through life unattached to my fellows, appeared my fate. I remember once to have read in some French author that the attachment we feel to home, the sacred names of son and brother, are not more than the instincts of habit; that natural affection, as it is called, has no real existence; and that it is the mere force of repetition that forms the tie by which we love those whom we call father or mother. It is a cold and a cheerless theory, and yet now it struck me with a certain melancholy satisfaction to think that, save in the name of parentage, I was not worse off than others.

The hours glided on unnoticed as I lay thus dreaming, and night at last fell, dark and starless. I had almost attained to a kind of careless indifference as to my future, when the mate, coming up to me, said,—

“Wake up, master; we 're going to put you ashore here.”

I made no answer: half in recklessness, half in pride, I was silent.

“You 'd better throw my boat-cloak over you. It's blowing fresh, and a heavy sea running,” said he, in a kindly voice.

“Thanks,” said I, declining; “but I 'm little used to care for my comforts. Can I see the skipper?”

“He told me that he preferred not to see you,” said the mate, hesitatingly, “and bade me arrange for putting you ashore myself.”

“It is a question of money—not of politeness—with me,” said I, producing my purse. “Tell me what I owe him.”

“Not a farthing, sir. He 'd not touch a piece of money that belonged to you. He only wants you to go your way, and part company with him.”

“Why—what does he take me for? What means this dread of me?”

The man looked confusedly up and down, to either hand, and was silent. At last he said,—

“Come; all this is lost time. We 're close in now. Are you ready, sir?”

“Quite ready,” said I, rising, and following him.

The boat's crew was already mustered, and, springing into the boat, she was lowered at once; and before I well knew of it, we were plunging through a heavy sea, by the force of four strong oars.

Through the darkness and the showering spray we went,—now rising on the crest of some swelling wave, now diving down between the foaming cataracts. I never asked whither we were bound. I scarcely wished for land. There was something so exciting in the sense of peril about, that I only desired it might continue. Such a relief is physical danger to the slow and cankering disease of a despairing heart!