tiest dancer that had ever illuminated the horizon of Vienna, deemed that some rouleaux, and even a diamond necklace, would be saved by his nephew’s being introduced to the historical records of his family, in which the old Castle of Aremberg occupied a distinguished place. Advantage was accordingly taken of a slight breach of military observance, and the delinquent forced to leave Vienna at a quarter of an hour's notice—quite unsuspicious how active his uncle had been for his good. Had Adalbert been aware of this most fatherly act, it is probable his guardian would have more than shared the execrations which the exile lavished in his inmost heart on fate, Colonel Rasaki, nay even on the august person of the Emperor.
A long ride had completely fatigued him, and he resolved to postpone his discontents.
"I shall have time enough to grumble," thought he, as he followed the lighted pine-splinter—the only taper the place afforded—to the state chamber. The moths flew out of the tapestry as he entered—they had half devoured the court of Solomon, no more "in all his glory;" the green velvet hangings of the enormous bed had shared the same fate; and Adalbert was again driven to the hall, where he fell asleep thinking of suicide, and awoke dreaming of Angeline, whose image, however, instantly took flight before the melancholy reality of the old castle.
Yet, a week had not elapsed before Adalbert thought the said castle very well for a change, and
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