"Pray, Mr. Flemming, what do you think of that Rembrandt?" said he, pointing to a picture onthe wall. "Exquisite picture! The grandeur of sentiment and splendor of chiaroscuro are of the first order. Just observe the liquidity of the water, and the silveryness of the clouds! Great power! There is a bravura of handling in that picture, Sir, which requires the eye of the connoisseur to appreciate." "Yes, a most undoubted--copy!" And here their conversation ended; for at that moment the little Moldavian Prince Jerkin made his way through the crowd, with his snuff-box as usual in his hand, and hurried up to Flemming whom he had known in Heidelberg. He was eager to let every one know that he spoke English, and in his haste began by making a mistake. "Good bye! Good bye! Mr. Flemming!" said he, instead of good evening. "I am ravished to see you in Ems. Nice place;--all that there is of most nice. I drink my water and am good! Do you not think the Frau Kranich has a very beautiful leather?" He meant skin. Flemming laughed outright; but it was not perceived by the Prince, because at that moment he was pushed aside, in the rush of a gallopade, and Flemming beheld his face no more. At the same moment the Baron introduced a friend of his, who also spoke English and said; "You will sup with me to-night. I have some Rhine-wine, which will be a seduction to you." Soon after, the Baron stood with an impassioned, romantic lady leaning on his arm, examining a copy of Raphael's Fornarina. "Ach! I wish I had been the Fornarina," sighed the impassioned, romantic lady. "Then, my dear Madam," replied the Baron, "I wish I had been Raphael." And so likewise said to himself a very tall man with fiery red hair, and fancy whiskers, who was waltzing round and round in one spot, and in a most extraordinary waistcoat; thus representing a fiery, floating-light, to warn men of the hidden rocks, on which the breath of vanity drives them shipwreck. At length, his partner, tired of spinning, sank upon a sofa, like a child's top, when it reels and falls. "You do not like the waltz?" said an elderly French gentleman, remarking the expression of Flemming's countenance. "O yes; among the figurantes of the Opera. But I confess, it sometimes makes me shudder to see a young rake clasp his arms round the waist of a pure and innocent girl. What would you say, were you to see him sitting on a sofa with his arms round your wife?" "Mere prejudice of education," replied the French gentleman. "I know that situation. I have read all about it in the Bibliothèque de Romans Choisis!" And merrily went the dance; and bright eyes and flushed cheeks were not wanting among the dancers; "And they waxed red, and waxed warm, And rested, panting, arm in arm,"