“Well, then, no matter,” said I.  “Have you sent my luggage up stairs?”

“No, sir, there is no room—­the house is full.”

“The house full!  Confound it—­this is too provoking.  I have most urgent reasons for wishing to stay here.  Cannot you make some arrangement—­see about it, waiter.”  I here slipped a Napoleon into the fellow’s hand, and hinted that as much more awaited the finale of the negociation.

In about a minute after, I perceived him behind the host’s chair, pleading my cause with considerable energy; but to my complete chagrin, I heard the other answer all his eloquence by a loud “Nein,” that he grunted out in such a manner as closed the conference.

“I cannot succeed, sir,” said the man, as he passed behind me, “but don’t leave the house till I speak with you again.”

What confounded mystery is there in all this, thought I. Is there any thing so suspicious in my look or appearance, that the old bear in the fur cap will not even admit me.  What can it all mean.  One thing I’m resolved upon—­nothing less than force shall remove me.

So saying I lit my cigar, and in order to give the waiter an opportunity of conferring with me unobserved by his master, walked out into the porch and sat down.

In a few minutes he joined me, and after a stealthy look on each side, said—­

“The Herr Andreas is a hard man to deal with, and when he says a thing, never goes back of it.  Now he has been expecting the new English Charge d’Affaires here these last ten days, and has kept the hotel half empty in consequence; and as mi Lor Callonby has engaged the other half, why we have nothing to do; so that when he asked the postillion if you were mi Lor, and found that you were not, he determined not to admit you.”

“But why not have the civility to explain that?”

“He seldom speaks, and when he does only a word or two at a time.  He is quite tired with what he has gone through to-day, and will retire very early to bed; and for this reason I have requested you to remain, for as he never ventures up stairs, I will then manage to give you one of the ambassador’s rooms, which, even if he come, he’ll never miss.  So that if you keep quiet, and do not attract any particular attention towards you, all will go well.”

This advice seemed so reasonable, that I determined to follow it—­any inconvenience being preferable, provided I could be under the same roof with my beloved Jane; and from the waiter’s account, there seemed no doubt whatever of their arrival that evening.  In order, therefore, to follow his injunctions to the letter, I strolled out toward the Place in search of the tailor, and also to deliver a letter from Waller to the chamberlain, to provide me with a card for the ball.  Monsieur Schnetz, who was the very pinnacle of politeness, was nevertheless, in fact, nearly as untractable as my host of the “Cross.”  All his “sujets” were engaged in preparing