'An equerry of the Prince of Vaudemont found it, at an auberge near the Meurthe--the auberge of the Three Willows; and M. le Prince at once sent it here, believing it to belong to monsieur.' 'The Prince was right--I owe him many thanks.' 'He left word that he would be proud to see monsieur at his apartments, on his leaving the presence of the Duke.' 'At his apartments--is he there now?' 'Yes, monsieur--awaiting you.' 'Please to conduct me to him.' The servant bowed to the rosettes at his knees, and preceded me along several passages all panelled with oak, and decorated in many places by stags' heads and horns, and by trophies of ancient arms and heraldic devices, amid which the winglets of Lorraine, mantled, collared and coroneted, were ever the most prominent ornament. We reached a door, before which a page was lounging on a fauteuil, and within we heard voices laughing and in animated conversation, sounds that jarred upon my ear, for my heart was sick and humbled. I was ushered into a large apartment, the walls of which were hung with rich old tapestry, representing the loves of heathen gods, and scantily-attired goddesses; and of shepherds and shepherdesses, with crook and flageolet; but who were much more occupied with each other than with their sheep, which seemed to browse among clover composed of cabbages and sunflowers. Several suits of old armour, numerous stars of burnished weapons, and two lofty black oak cabinets, profusely carved, decorated this room, in the centre of which stood a table, whereon a luxurious luncheon was spread; and here De Vaudemont, Count Pappenheim and De Bitche, were engaged in doing every justice to the good things before them. A fourth place was vacant, as the page intimated, for me. 'Welcome, M. Blane,' exclaimed the Prince, taking me warmly by the hand, 'welcome, to our ancient home at Nanci!' 'I thank you, M. le Prince.' 'Ah, my friend, on that night, when we first crossed our swords in the Place de la Grève at Paris, who could foresee to-day, or the gratitude we owe you? How strangely things come to pass in this changing world! And on that night at Paris, you fought in defence of Marie Louise too, when she fled from Raoul d'Ische and me, for we believed her to be but a little grisette, tripping before us in the dark. You remember poor Raoul, and his favourite song, 'Vive le fils d'Harlette! Normands, Vive le fils d'Harlette!' Poor Raoul; he was indeed a gallant spirit! These are my friends, M. Blane; this is M. le Comte Pappenheim--'' 'The brave son of a brave father,' said I, bowing; but Pappenheim smiled disdainfully, and played with the shaggy moustache which covered his upper lip--a lip thick and coarse, like that which since the days of the Emperor Maximilian I. has been deemed fashionable, and even royal, in Austria. 'And this is the colonel of my father's petardiers, M. le Comte de Bitche, whom you have had the pleasure of meeting before--'