To enjoy the sunshine one must have sojourned in shadow; and, certainly, prosperity is never so entrancing as after some experience of its opposite, and Beecher was never wearied of admiring the splendor of the apartment, the wonderful promptitude of the waiters, and the excellence of everything. It must be owned the dinner was in Bauer's best style,--the bisque, the raebraten, the pheasant, all that could be wished for; and when the imposing host himself uncorked a precious flask of a “Cabinet Steinberger,” Beecher felt it was a very charming world when one had only got to the sunny side of it. Mr. Bauer--a politeness rarely accorded, save to the highest rank--directed the service in person, and vouchsafed to be agreeable during the repast. “And so your season was a good one, Bauer?” said Beecher. “Reasonably so, your Excellency. We had the King of Wurtemberg, the Queen of Greece, a couple of archdukes, and a crown prince of something far north,--second rate ones all, but good people, and easily satisfied.” Beecher gave a significant glance towards Lizzy, and went on: “And who were your English visitors?” “The old set, your Excellency: the Duke of Middleton, Lord Headlam and his four daughters, Sir Hipsley Keyling, to break the bank, as usual--” “And did he?” “No, Excellency; it broke _him_.” “Poor devil! it ain't so easy to get to windward of those fellows, Bauer; they are too many for us, eh?” said Beecher, chuckling with the consciousness that _he_ had the key to that mysterious secret. “Well, Excellency, there's nobody ever does it but one, so long as I have known Baden.” “And who is he, pray?” “Mr. Twining,--Adderley Twining, sir; that's the man can just win what and when and how he pleases.” “Don't tell _me_ that, Bauer; _he_ has n't got the secret. If Twining wins, it 's chance,--mere chance, just as you might win.” “It may be so, your Excellency.” “I tell you, Bauer,--I know it as a _fact_,--there's just one man in Europe has the martingale, and here's to his health.” Mr. Bauer was too well skilled in his calling not to guess in whose honor the glass was drained, and smiled a gracious recognition of the toast. “And your pretty people, Herr Bauer,” broke in Lizzy,--“who were your great beauties this season?” “We had nothing remarkable, Madame,” said he, bowing. “No, Master Bauer,” broke in Beecher; “for the luck and the good looks I suspect you should have gone somewhere else this summer.” Bauer bowed his very deepest acknowledgment. Too conscious of what became him in his station to hazard a flattery in words, he was yet courtier enough to convey his admiration by a look of most meaning deference. “I conclude that the season is nigh over,” said Lizzy, half languidly, as she looked out on the moonlit promenade, where a few loungers were lingering. “Yes, Madame; another week will close the rooms. All are hastening away to their winter quarters,--Rome, Paris, or Vienna.”