Another ‘character’ was an Englishman named Foneron. He had been for a long time a banker at Leghorn, and had amassed a great fortune there, after which he migrated to Austria. As humpbacked as Æsop, as careful as the Phrygian, and nevertheless endowed with a sensitive heart, he had strenuously calculated the discomforts of a union with a fair one of any thing like Circassian stature. With admirable foresight, he had looked for and found a young girl with a most charming face, but more deformed than he. He offered his hand, which was accepted, for the girl was poor. The marriage took place secretly, but there were still too many witnesses, for never assuredly was there a more strangely assorted marriage. A host with an excellent wine-cellar and an almost matchless cook is sure to meet with indulgence from every one. Mr. Foneron had both, and in spite of the far from good-natured remarks about himself and his wife, made a point during the Congress of giving the most exquisite dinners. Few strangers admitted to his sumptuous board have forgotten the Friday’s fare, and the classic beefsteaks forming part of it. They might have called Mr. Foneron the cook of the Congress. Amidst that crowd of pretenders and petitioners, he asked for nothing, claimed neither indemnity nor titles, nor orders. His titles and orders were his dinners. His sole ambition might have been to preside at the Beefsteak Club of London. At one of those receptions I met M. Ank----, a Jew by birth, who did not belie the instinct of his race for gold. He had a great quantity of it, he was literally bursting with it; but his reputation for avarice at least equalled his reputation for wealth. He took it into his head to invite me to breakfast. Curious to verify the proverb to the effect that there is nothing more lavish than a miser, I accepted the invitation. Both the size and the tidiness of the whole of his apartment produced as it were a cold shiver. There was scarcely any fire, few carpets, and some hard-worn furniture. As a kind of penance, no doubt, for the many glorious banquets I had partaken of during the preceding months, he offered me a little dubious black liquid which he called chocolate. When I had courageously swallowed the Lacedemonian broth, he took to showing me his artistic treasures. M. Ank---- was a numismatist; he had one of the richest and most complete collections of medals in Vienna, rivalling that most celebrated one of the Comte Vitzay. After this he showed me some rather good pictures and then a heap of bric-à-brac, collected less for the love of art than from the wish for gain, for he put a madly exaggerated price on all that old rubbish. I had accepted the chocolate, I had drunk it, and I swallowed the rest of the bitter cup. When he had shown me everything, he drew from an iron chest a portfolio full of drafts to order, bills of exchange, and bills at sight. They represented an immense amount of money.