“Worst of all,” said he, half rebukingly, and passed on. I now bethought me how remiss I had been. It is true it was through a sense of my own insignificant station that I had not presented myself to my host; but I ought to have remembered that this excuse could have no force outside the limits of my own heart; and so, as I despaired of finding Hanserl, whose advice might have aided me, I set out at once to make my respects. A long, straight avenue, flanked by tall lime-trees, led from the sea to the house; and as I passed up this, crowded now like the chief promenade of a city, I heard many comments as I went on my dress and appearance. “What have we here?” said one. “Is this a prince or a mountebank?” “What boy, with a much-braid-bedizened velvet coat is this?” muttered an old German, as he pointed at me with his pipe-stick.. One pronounced me a fencing-master; but public reprobation found its limit at last by calling me a Frenchman. Shall I own that I heard all these with something much more akin to pride than to shame? The mere fact that they recognized me as unlike one of themselves--that they saw in me what was not “Fiumano “--was in itself a flattery; and as to the depreciation, it was pure ignorance! I am afraid that I even showed how defiantly I took this criticism,--showed it in my look, and showed it in my gait; for as I ascended the steps to the terrace of the villa, I heard more than one comment on my pretentious demeanor. Perhaps some rumor of the approach of a distinguished guest had reached Herr Oppovich where he sat, at a table with some of the magnates of Fiume, for be hastily arose and came forward to meet me. Just as I gained the last terrace, the old man stood bareheaded and bowing before me, a semicircle of wondering guests at either side of him. “Whom have I the distinguished honor to receive?” said Herr Ignaz, with a profound show of deference. “Don't you know me, sir? Owen,--Digby Owen.” “What!--how?--Eh--in heaven's name--sure it can't be! Why, I protest it is,” cried he, laying his hand on my shoulder, as if to test my reality. “This passes all belief. Who ever saw the like! Come here, Knabe, come here.” And slipping his hand within my arm, he led me towards the table he had just quitted. “Sara,” cried he, “here is a guest you have not noticed; a high and wellborn stranger, who claims all your attention. Let him have the place of honor at your side. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Herr Digby Owen, the stave-counter of my timber-yard!” And he burst, with this, into a roar of laughter, that, long pent up by an effort, now seemed to threaten him with a fit Nor was the company slow in chorusing him; round after round shook the table, and it seemed as if the joke could never be exhausted.