addressed in one of the dead languages. Seeing the predicament, and
mastering it rapidly,--

"Excuse me," said De Vlierbeck, rising; "he would not find it, I fear. I
will be back in a moment."

Rushing into the kitchen, he seized the third and last bottle and
descended to the cellar, where he stopped to draw breath and compose
himself.

"_Château-margaux! hochheimer! champagne!"_ exclaimed poor De
Vlierbeck, "and not another drop of wine in my house but what is in this
last bottle of claret! What _shall_ I do? what _can_ I do?" continued
he, as he held the cobwebbed bottle in one hand and stroked his chin
with the other. "But no matter: there's no time for reflection: the die
is cast, and may God help me in my need!"

He ascended the stair, entered the dining-room with the corkscrew in the
last cork, and found that during his absence Lenora had ordered fresh
glasses on the table.

"This wine," said De Vlierbeck, holding the bottle knowingly to the
light, "is at least twenty years old, Monsieur Denecker, and I sincerely
hope it will please your palate." So saying, he filled the glasses of
uncle and nephew, and gazed anxiously in their faces for the verdict.

Denecker tasted the wine, drop by drop, like an epicure, and, shaking
his head disappointedly,--

"There's a mistake, doubtless," said he; "for it's the identical wine we