Things went on in this way for a year or two; until, in fact, the summer of 1855. It was during the summer of that year, it will be remembered, that Norfolk was so terribly scourged by yellow fever, and my grandfather, instead of going, as usual, to the springs, had remained at Elmington, and opened his doors to his friends and other refugees from the stricken city. Now it so happened that, a few weeks before the epidemic declared itself, a young French or—to speak more accurately—Belgian violinist had dropped down into Norfolk, from somewhere, in search of a living; who, panic-stricken upon the outbreak of the fever, had fled, he hardly knew whither; but happening to find his way to Leicester Court-House, was not long in falling in with Herr Waldteufel; and he, exulting in the treasure he had found, brought him to Elmington on the first Friday afternoon thereafter ensuing. “I have inform Monsieur Villemain,” whispered the Herr, at the first opportunity, “dot Elmingtone vas so full as a teek von peoples, but he can shleep mit me. But you know, Barrone, vy I have bring dis Frenchman, oder Beige, to Elmingtone?” (He would insist upon calling Mr. Whacker Baron.) “I suppose he is a refugee, and you knew—” “A refuchee! ja wohl! Ach! but mein Gott, Barrone,” exclaimed he, clasping his hands, “vat for a feedler ist dot mon!” “You don’t tell me so!” “Donnerwetter!” rejoined the Herr, rolling up his eyes, “you joost hear him one time, dot’s all!” From that day in August until the following Christmas M. Villemain was a member of our household; and even then he took his departure much against my grandfather’s will. His coming among us enabled Mr. Whacker to do what he had scarcely dreamed of before,—to establish, namely, a string quartet.