BOW I GOT MY OVERCOAT. 143 



treated. So we went back to the smoking-room, 

 and with fresh coffee and cigars opened an ac- 

 quaintance which resulted not altogether un- 

 eventfully. 



He was not obtrusive. His story was not forced 

 upon me ; but as I already had its thread, I was 

 able to draw it from him in a natural way, and 

 he told it very frankly, though halting a little at 

 its more important turnings, as if wondering how 

 its development would strike me. There was just 

 enough of hesitancy over a harrowing tale to throw 

 on myself the responsibility of learning it. 



He had been brought up by the tenderest of 

 mothers at the castle of Schlodien (I think in 

 Silesia), had early joined the Cuirassiers of the 

 Body Guard, had fought a fatal duel in which he 

 had been the aggressor, and had been condemned 

 to the Fortress of Spandau. Only his mother's 

 great influence (exercised without the knowledge 

 of his stern and much older father, who was then 

 on his distant estates) had secured for him an 

 opportunity to escape. He had come directly to 

 America, and had remained near Boston until he 



