CHAPTER XVI.
A CHASE OF TWO PHANTOMS.
I was reading the other day the memoirs of an eminent English man of letters, now dead. He had paid a long visit to Forstadt, and had much to say (sometimes, I think, in a vein of veiled irony) about Victoria, her literary tastes and her literary circle. Finding amusement enough to induce me to turn over a few more pages, I came on the following passage:
"With the King himself I conversed once only; but I saw him often and heard much about him. He was then twenty-four—a tall and very thin young man, with dark brown hair and a small mustache of a lighter tint. His nose was aquiline, his eyes rather deep set, his face long and inclining to the hatchet-shape. He had beautiful hands, of which he was said to be proud. He stooped a little when walking, but displayed considerable dignity of carriage. He was accused of haughtiness, except toward a few intimates. Unquestionably his late adviser, Hammerfeldt, had imbued him with some notions as to his position which it is hardly unjust to call mediæval. A wit, or would-be wit, said of him that he postulated God in order to legitimize the powers of Augustin, his deputy. Certain persons very closely acquainted with him (I withhold names) gave a curi-
