One night I was awakened, quite late, by Voisin, sitting on the side of my bed, big-eyed and excited, and with a wonderful story to tell. He had been, at the request of the counsel of the Prussian Consul, to the detectives' rooms at police headquarters. Here he had been questioned as to his knowledge of one Adolph Danforth, _alias_ Graf zu Dohna-Schlodien, _alias_ Fritz Stabenow, and had subsequently had an interview with that interesting youth in the lock-up. The glory had all departed. He had been there forty-eight hours, was unwashed, uncombed, stolid, comfortable, and quite at home. There was no remnant left of the simple and modest demeanor of the well-bred aristocrat. It was hard to see a trace of likeness to the Kürassier officer with whose photograph we were familiar. The obligations of _noblesse_ seemed to be entirely removed, and there was nothing left but plain, ignoble Fritz Stabenow. An examination of his pockets developed a singular folly. He had kept every scrap of paper on which a word had ever been written to him. Tailors' bills, love-letters, duns, photographs of half a dozen different girls, all were huddled together. He had a package of the Count Dohna cards and the plate from which they had been printed,--made in Boston; a letter of credit from a banking-house in Berlin to its New York correspondent had the copperplate card of the firm on the paper, but the paper was ruled as a German banker's paper never is, and the plate from which the card had been printed (also made in Boston) was in the envelope with it. A letter from plain father Stabenow enclosed photographs of still plainer mother and sister Stabenow, which were a sad contrast to the glory of the Countess Dohna's picture. The father's letter was full of kindly reproof and affectionate regret. "Ach! Fritz, ich hätte das von Dir nicht gedacht,"--"I never thought that of you"; but it was forgiving too, and promised the remittance, clothing, and gun I have spoken of before. The papers, for the loss of which such tears had been shed at Fort Trumbull, were all there in their well-worn companionship with a soiled paper-collar, and that badge of dawning civilization, a tooth-brush. Here were also two photographs, one of the statue of Frederick the Great in Berlin on the card of a St. Louis photographer, and another of himself in Prussian uniform, on the card of a Berlin photographer. The pictures had been "lifted" and changed to the different cards. A more careful neglect of track-covering was never known. The evidence of all his deceptions had been studiously preserved. Voisin had given him a dollar to buy some necessary articles, and had left him to his fate. The disillusion was complete, and I saw that I had been swindled by a false count even more completely than I ever had been by real barons,--which is much to say.