The count listened with the most patient attention to my story, only interfering once or twice when some difficulty demanded explanation, and then suffering me to proceed to the end. Then leisurely withdrawing a pocket-book from the breast of his frock, he opened it slowly. ‘My dear young friend,’ said he, in a measured and almost solemn tone, ‘every hour that a man is in debt is a year spent in slavery. Your creditor is your master; it matters not whether a kind or a severe one, the sense of obligation you incur saps the feeling of manly independence which is the first charm of youth--and, believe me, it is always through the rents in moral feeling that our happiness oozes out quickest. Here are five thousand francs; take as much as you want. With a friend, and I insist upon you believing me to be such, these things have no character of obligation: I accommodate you to-day; you do the same for me to- morrow. And now put these notes in your pocket; I see madame is waiting for us.’ For a second or two I felt so overpowered I could not speak. The generous confidence and friendly interest of one so thoroughly a stranger were too much for my astonished and gratified mind. At last I recovered myself enough to reply, and assuring my worthy friend that when I spoke of my debts they were in reality merely trifling ones; that I had still ample funds in my banker’s hands for all necessary outlay, and that by the next post, perhaps, my long-wished-for letter might arrive. ‘And if it should not?’ interposed he, smiling. ‘Why then the next day----’ ‘And if not then?’ continued he, with a half-quizzing look at my embarrassment. ‘Then your five thousand francs shall tremble for it.’ ‘That’s a hearty fellow!’ cried he, grasping my hand in both of his; ‘and now I feel I was not deceived in you. My first meeting with Metternich was very like this. I was at Presburg in the year 1804, just before the campaign of Austerlitz opened--’ ‘You are indeed most gallant, messieurs,’ said the countess, opening the door, and peeping in. ‘Am I to suppose that cigars and maraschino are better company than mine?’ We rose at once to make our excuses; and thus I lost the story of Prince Metternich, in which I already felt an uncommon interest from the similarity of the adventure to my own, though whether I was to represent the prince or the count I could not even guess. I was soon seated beside the countess in the luxurious britzka; the count took his place on the box, and away we rattled over the stones through the Porte de Namur, and along the pretty suburbs of Etterbech, where we left the highroad, and entered the Bois de Cambre by that long and beautiful _allée_ which runs on for miles, like some vast aisle in a Gothic cathedral--the branches above bending into an arched roof, and the tall beech-stems standing like the pillars.