Blodget watched the countenance of Monteagle narrowly, as the youth replied, ‘I have some faint recollection of the fellow’s face. His nose, that seems to have been knocked out of its proper shape, struck me like an old acquaintance, but where, and under what circumstances I have seen it before, I am unable to determine. But let him go. You and me are met now for another purpose.’ ‘Let us walk along towards Dupont street,’ said the other, musing. ‘Well, on then. But what engages your thoughts at this moment?’ ‘As for that, Monteagle, what would you give to know?’ ‘It’s not very important, I’ll be sworn. Some love affair doubtless.’ ‘You are a wizard,’ replied Blodget. ‘It is a love affair, but one that interests you much more than me.’ ‘Interest _me_?’ said the youth, much surprised. ‘It is a great secret, sir,’ and Blodget squeezed the arm of his companion. ‘If it is a secret you are bound to keep it close. Is it not so?’ ‘Not exactly. But come into this shantee with me, and I will explain matters to your full satisfaction.’ Monteagle followed his friend into the wine shop, nothing loth; for though he assumed an indifferent air, he could not feel altogether uninterested in an affair of this kind. Besides, like all young men on such occasions, his curiosity was powerfully excited. Blodget sat down in one corner and beckoned to the host to set on a bottle of champagne. He then pressed Monteagle to drink who, at first, refused, but being in haste to hear the news, he finally tossed off a glass in order to hurry on the recital which Blodget had in store for him. ‘It is a strange story,’ said Blodget, smacking his lips—‘good wine—’ ‘But this queer business—the love story—some Mexican squaw, I suppose, has—’ ‘No—no. You are a lucky dog, Monteagle.’ ‘Very likely.’ Here Blodget poured out another glass and nodded to his companion—‘Take another, and then to business.’ Monteagle drank to save time, and said; ‘Go on with this wonderful story.’ ‘Well,’ said the other, ‘I think your chance is good. The firm hold you in high estimation—’ ‘Fudge! no more of that—’ ‘But I must tell the story in my own way. I say that you are a lucky dog, Monteagle. Come, one more glass and then to business.’ Monteagle drank, and motioned impatiently to Blodget. ‘My friend, if you work your cards right, there is a fortune in reserve for you.’ A thought struck Monteagle, and for a moment he was agitated. He drank to hide his emotion. ‘Good wine, is it not, Monteagle?’ ‘Yes, indeed, but we are coming to the end of the bottle before we get to the beginning of the story.’ ‘Oh, but I’ve told you the most important part—that is the _fortune_. Now with regard to the young lady, she is a perfect angel.’ ‘Of course—all angels till after marriage.’ ‘No, but you’ve seen her.’ ‘Have I, indeed?’ ‘The old man is rich—counts his money by tens of thousands. You have seen him, too. Landlord, another bottle.’