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 enacting, while I filled out a glass, and proposed ‘the memory of Mrs Milbirn.’

“Did you know Mrs Mil” the word was checked in its utterance; for the thought flashed across her mind that the stranger now at her side might be the identical Mr Blum whose arrival she of course knew was hourly expected.

“By name only,” I replied with affected unconcern. “She has a grandson in the city, who is an intimate friend of mine.”

“You speak of Mr Blum!” said she with some surprise, her features revealing more than she meant they should, while she pressed me with inquiries regarding my friend,—how old he was,—how he looked,—what character he bore, and various other queries to which I found it somewhat difficult promptly to reply.

“It is said,” she remarked, with an expression which betrayed to me the deep interest she felt in what might be my answer,—“it is said the young gentleman will soon be here, and that he is to bring his wife along with him”

“His wife” echoed I, laughing; but here we were interrupted by the waiter’s announcing a post-chaise, upon which Florentine, apparently as much disappointed as myself, rose and hastened out of the room.

The girl’s cunning amused me not a little; but she had flattered my vanity in the course of our colloquy, and I amused myself during her absence with building castles in the air. I now clearly understood what had been Mr Zwicker’s motives in so earnestly advising me not to go to the Blue Angel. Dinny—as he called her—was not to be thought of one moment longer, after beholding Florentine. But what had become of the Angel? Was she receiving the new guests with the same sweet smiles which she bestowed upon me? The thought was a very vexatious one, and I began to get excessively peevish. The waiter meanwhile entered with the dessert, but my anxiety could brook Florentine’s absence no longers I rose from my seat and proceeded towards the