“I would run away,” murmured the chief waiter, as Count St. Julien for the fourth time drove away, “if my feet were not riveted to the floor.” “If I could move mine I would have gone long ago,” groaned the second waiter, the clear drops standing upon his forehead. “It is witchcraft! Oh, Heaven! they are coming again, playing the ‘Drei Reuter.’” The count descended the stairs for the fifth time, whispered to the hostler, who was quite engrossed counting his money, handed the trinkgeld to the pale fellows by the door, and mounted his carriage, driving away amid the merry peals of the post-horn. “Julius,” murmured the steward, softly, “give my hair a good pulling, that I may awake from this horrible dream.” “I cannot,” he whimpered, “my hands and feet are lame. I cannot move.” “I will,” said the hostler, courageously stretching forth his hand, and pulling it so vigorously that the steward was fully convinced of the reality of things. Again the post-horn sounded the “Drei Reuter;” again the carriage stopped before the door, and the count descended, giving to every one a gift like the “Maedchen aus der Fremde,” and for the sixth time rolled away. “We are bewitched; it is a ghost from the infernal regions!” groaned the steward. “I cannot abide it any longer--I shall die!” said the second waiter. “I do not mind it,” said the hostler, as he jingled the money; “if they are ghosts from hell, the eight groschen do not come from there, for they are quite cool. See how--Ah, there comes the count again!” For the seventh time he passed down the stairway, by the servants, who wore no longer standing but kneeling, which the count received as a proof of their profound respect, and slipped the money into their hands. “Praise God, all good spirits!” murmured the head waiter; but neither the count nor the money seemed to be moved by the pious exhortation, for he quietly entered his carriage, and the eight groschen lay in the servant’s hand, at which the hostler remarked that he would stand there all night if the count would only continually pass by with groschen. It pleased the count to descend the stairs yet twice more, divide the trinkgeld, and mount his carriage. As he drove away the ninth time, it appeared as if the Drei Reuter were determined to drive out of the gate and forsake the hotel “King of Portugal.” The host waited awhile, and talked with the neighbors, who, roused by the continual blast of the post-horn, were curious to know how it happened that so many guests were departing by extra posts. Whereupon the host, in a hollow, sepulchral voice, his eyes glaring, and shrugging his shoulders, declared that there had been but one gentleman at the hotel, but nine times he had seen him drive away, and the devil must have a hand in the matter! Shaking his head, he returned to the hotel, and found the servants busily counting their money, occasionally casting covetous looks toward the stairs, as if they hoped the count would again descend.