What dreams were mine that night! What delightful visions of lake scenery and Polish countesses, of mountain gorges and blue eyes, of deep ravines and lovely forms! I thought we were sailing up Lough Corrib; the moon was up, spangling and flecking the rippling lake; the night was still and calm, not a sound save the cuckoo being heard to break the silence. As I listened I started, for I thought, instead of her wonted note, her cry was ever, ‘Je marque le Roi.’ Morning came at last; but I could not awake, and endeavoured to sink back into the pleasant realm of dreams, from which daylight disturbed me. It was noon when at length I succeeded in awaking perfectly. ‘A note for monsieur,’ said a waiter, as he stood beside the bed. I took it eagerly. It was from the countess; its contents were these:-- ‘My dear Sir,--A hasty summons from Count Czaroviski has compelled me to leave Brussels without wishing you good-bye, and thanking you for all your polite attentions. Pray accept these hurried acknowledgments, and my regret that circumstances do not enable me to visit Ireland, in which, from your description, I must ever feel the deepest interest. ‘The count sends his most affectionate greetings.--Yours ever sincerely, ‘Duischka Czaroviski née Gutzaff.’ ‘And is she gone?’ said I, starting up in a state of frenzy. ‘Yes, sir; she started at ten o’clock.’ ‘By what road?’ cried I, determined to follow her on the instant. ‘Louvain was the first stage.’ In an instant I was up, and dressed; in ten minutes more I was rattling over the stones to my banker’s. ‘I want three hundred napoleons at once,’ said I to the clerk. ‘Examine Mr. O’Leary’s account,’ was the dry reply of the functionary. ‘Overdrawn by fifteen hundred francs,’ said the other. ‘Overdrawn? Impossible!’ cried I, thunderstruck. ‘I had a credit for six hundred pounds.’ ‘Which you drew out by cheque this morning,’ said the clerk. ‘Is not that your handwriting?’ ‘It is,’ said I faintly, as I recognised my own scrawl, dated the evening before. I had lost above seven hundred, and had not a sou left to pay post- horses. I sauntered back sadly to the ‘France,’ a sadder man than ever in my life before. A thousand tormenting thoughts were in my brain; and a feeling of contempt for myself, somehow, occupied a very prominent place. Well, well; it’s all past and gone now, and I must not awaken buried griefs. I never saw the count and countess again; and though I have since that been in St. Petersburg, the grand-duke seems to have forgotten my services, and a very pompous-looking porter in a bear-skin did not look exactly the kind of person to whom I should wish to communicate my impression about ‘Count Potoski’s house being my own.’ CHAPTER XI, A FRAGMENT OF FOREST LIFE