Meanwhile the music had for the moment ceased, and loud laughing and shrill voices, mingled with smoother tones and words of entreaty, were heard, and there was a simultaneous movement toward the dressing-rooms and places of exit. Suddenly word came back that the doors were locked, and the frightened lackeys had fled from their posts, with orders that no one should be allowed to leave the house. Then followed a scene of consternation and confusion,—wives demanding redress from their husbands, and husbands denouncing the violation of hospitality by their host, and through all the din the guttural tones and the piping taunts of the unsainted. Presently the tall form of Herr Rosenblatt showed, a head above the crowd, adding to his length the height of a fauteuil, upon which he balanced, with a drunken man’s nicety of poise, for he was drunk but coherent. “Gentlemen,” said he, “we have met together, as we have met before, for the purpose of proving which man among us has the staying qualities, and who is willing to risk his money in this little game. You come to me and say, ‘Open your doors, my lady wishes to go,’ but how many of you dare to go when I say to those who will go, ‘To-morrow I shall expose you, to-morrow you will sign over your estates to me, to-morrow you shall be ruined and I shall be winner.’ I did not make this party for your money—nor that you shall play, at my tables and lose, for that you have already done, but one thing I want which money will not buy,—social recognition,—and that you shall give me. You will not leave my house, gentlemen, till morning. The ladies will not talk about this entertainment. It is too beautiful; they will not attempt to describe it. Now, gentlemen, I bid you to stay and I shall make myself sure that you enjoy yourself. These remarks make it long for the champagne to wait, and the ladies, poor things, will be wanting refreshments. And such refreshments! Oh, _mon Dieu_, that the gods could sup with us,” and the speaker was helped caressingly to the floor. My dear scandalized mother, what did I do? I, an American girl, with the blood of heroes in my veins? Why, I remained and supped and smiled with the others, for not a man even tried the doors. Thereafter there was no restraint. It was, as I have said, a night of orgies. Each man felt that he was no more deeply involved than his neighbor, and that Herr Rosenblatt had told the truth when he said to all, that he held their fates in his fist, otherwise they would not have been there. He was right, the affair was not talked about except among themselves. But some mischievous astral,—some ubiquitous spirit of a reporter,—was floating about, and before twenty-four hours had elapsed, the court journals had published an account of the whole affair, comments included.