One evening I was lying upon my sofa, plunged in reflections very far from agreeable: Theodore amused himself by observing from the window a battle between two postillions, who were quarrelling in the innyard.

“Ha! Ha!” cried he suddenly; “Yonder is the great Mogul.”

“Who?” said I.

“Only a man who made me a strange speech at Munich.”

“What was the purport of it?”