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I remarked at once three pretty creatures of very
different styles of beauty.

“Who is that tall dark girl, Trump?”

“Who? She that is waltzing with a little sneaking,
bald-headed man?” he replied.

“Yes: a fat vulgar looking man is just whispering
to her!”

“She! why, who you think she is?”

“How should I know?”

“Why, my dear fellow, that is Miss Potiphar, and
in one glance, you have here my whole family party.
The lady is my Judith, my Jewish Juno. The
little blackguard that is dancing with her is Maccab
äus, a money lender, and a friend of her father; and
the large greasy looking plebeian whom you just saw
speaking to her is old Potiphar himself.

“But you seem to be paying your court very
negligently?” said I.

“Oh, I have had a quarrel with her father, and
our courtship is carried on for the present in secret.
It is for this reason that I feel certain of success.
Now that there is a mystery thrown over the whole
course of proceedings, her romance is awakened,

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and I shall soon persuade her to marry me in spite
of the whole synagogue. Go and waltz with her,
and talk to her of me!”

Miss Potiphar was tall. Her features, although
very Jewish, were very handsome. Her eyes were
long and black as death; her nose was of the handsomest
Hebrew cut, slightly aquiline, but thin and
expressive; her mouth was a thought too large, and
the lips might have been a trifle thinner; but as the
teeth were snow, and the lips coral, it was a beautiful
mouth after all. The dark shading on the upper
lip was rather too decided; but you forgave it
when you saw how it harmonized with her long
lashes, and her glossy hair. Her figure was certainly
superb, and the rounded luxuriance of the
outlines, and the majestic fullness of the whole development,
accorded well with her Eastern origin.
Her feet, like her hands, might have been smaller,
but they were well shaped, and she danced like a
Miriam.

I was, on the whole, not astonished, that the
prospect of inheriting fifty thousand rix dollars per
annum, in addition to the personal charms of the
fair Judith, was a sufficient inducement to Trump
to mix his pure Gothic blood with that which formerly
flowed in the veins of the Maccabæan kings.
I was curious to find if the charms of her mind
were equal to those of her person, and accordingly,
in the pauses of the waltz, I entered into conversation
with her. I soon discovered that she was a
fool.

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The little Fräulein Poodleberg was a very different
kind of beauty. She had dark chestnut hair,
which in the sun, was almost golden; hazel eyes,
with a bewitching wickedness of expression, and
very delicate and expressive features. The style of
her face, joined to the fanciful and and antique character
of her dress, gave her the look of an old-fashioned
German picture. She wore a dark velvet
boddice, nicely fitted to her plump and symmetrical
little figure, with a dress of tawny satin. A veil of
black lace was fastened to a high tortoise-shell comb
at the crown of her head, and hung gracefully
down about her neck and shoulders. The sleeves
of her jacket reached to her elbow, and a fold of exquisite
lace embellished the roundest and whitest
arms in the world. I soon discovered that she was
no fool. She was very sprightly, very poetical, and
very coquettish; but, I was informed, was desperately,
though secretly, attached to a young gentleman
named Pappenheim, who was not present, and
whom I had never seen. Why the deuce she should
also make love to me in secret, and how she could
manage to preserve her composure so perfectly in
my presence, I could not imagine—I was more puzzled
than ever.

But by far the loveliest woman in the room, and
one of the handsomest I ever saw in the world, was
the young Countess Bertha Wallenstein.

She was leaning on her father's arm, as I finished
my conversation with the little Poodleberg, and

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I was struck at once with the distinguished and superior
air of father and daughter.

Count Wallenstein was a colonel, who had served
in the wars of the immortal Frederick. He was
a middle-aged man, of a tall, portly, and commanding
figure; and one empty sleeve pinned to the breast
of his military coat, showed that he had not escaped
unharmed from the many campaigns he had been
engaged in. He was military commandant of the
town, and of a stern and unyielding character.

His daughter was, as I have said, eminently beautiful;
perhaps, if there was any one charm which
characterised her at first sight, it was her look of
blood. You could no more mistake her thoroughbred
air, than you could that of an Arabian filly.
Every movement, every feature, every limb proclaimed
it. She was tall and lithe, and though not
at all deficient in en bon point, her motions were as
light and graceful as an antelope's. Her face was
of the highest Saxon beauty, and the features all exquisitely
regular. Her complexion was of the most
Teutonic purity, and the colour came, vanished, and
changed at a thought, beneath the smooth and wonderful
whiteness of her skin. Her hair was of the
palest golden hue, and of the most delicate texture.
She had large grey eyes, whose colour might have
been too light for expression had they not been relieved
by very long and very dark lashes.

Altogether Bertha Von Wallenstein was worthy
of her name, for her father was, I believe, collaterally
descended from the great Duke of Friedland.

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The evening was drawing to a close. The seven
baronesses Puffendorf, had indulged us with songs
and music of all kinds. Professor Funk had been
prevailed upon to recite again the last ten lines of
his tragedy. Trump Von Toggenburg had nearly
finished his stolen flirtation with Judith, and I was
thinking seriously of retiring.

As I approached the door of the saloon, I heard a
soft and gentle voice utter the words, “You will not
forget, dearest Otto?” — and a voice that sounded
familiarly to me, replied, — “In ten days — only
ten days, my own Bertha.” I turned to look at
the lovers, and saw Bertha Wallenstein and Otto
Von Rabenmark!

I never saw such a transformation in a human
being, and for an instant could not believe my eyes.
It was, indeed, fox Rabenmark, but instead of the
savage, uncouth student, I saw an elegantly dressed
young nobleman, of peculiarly graceful manners,
and distinguished address. His hair was curled
and arranged in a becoming manner, and his graceful
and very handsome figure was displayed to the
greatest advantage in a rich and well-fashioned suit.
He wore lace ruffles, and a magnificent solitaire;
a chapeau, in the prevailing mode, was under his
arm, and a small court-sword was at his side.

Suddenly I perceived the father of the lady approaching,
and his face wore an aspect of unusual
severity. The pair clasped each other's hands, and
exchanged a passionate look, and then the daughter
left the room on the arm of her father.

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“Frau Von Funkendorff's lantern stops the way!”
bawled the servant, opening the door.

“Madame Poppenstein's lantern just arrived!”
repeated he, renewing the operation.

The party was evidently breaking up. — Trump
joined me, and together we made our obeisance.

On coming down stairs, I observed a whole string
of men-servants and housemaids, with lanterns in
their hands, and so discovered the meaning of the
servants' announcing in the saloon. I watched party
after party of ladies wrapping themselves in their
cloaks, and then, preceded by their servants with the
lantern, marching homeward through the gloom of
the dimly-lighted streets.

In returning home, I felt myself interested in
these episodes, as it were, of the epic of my own
life.

Here was Trump's amour with the Jewess; Rabenmark's
suddenly discovered and very singular
connection with Bertha Wallenstein; and this extraordinary
passion which Miss Poodleberg secretly
entertained for the unknown Pappenheim and myself.

I determined, if I could, to discover and observe
the progress of all. As for Trump, he had already
made me his confidant, and I expected the same of
Rabenmark, for he had taken occasion to request
me to be at home the next day for an hour preceding
the time appointed for the Paukerei.

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