for his guests. Count Munnich was very much devoted to the pleasures of
the table, and, sitting near the regent, he gave himself wholly up to
the cheerful humour which the excellent viands and delicate wines were
calculated to stimulate. At times he entirely forgot his deep-laid plans
for the coming night, and then again he would suddenly recollect them
in the midst of his gayest conversation with his host, and while
volunteering a toast in praise of the noble regent, and closing it by
crying--"A long life and reign to the great regent, Biron von Courland!"
he secretly and with a malicious pleasure thought: "This is thy
last dinner, sir duke! A few hours, and those lips, now smiling with
happiness, will be forever silenced by our blows!"

These thoughts made the field-marshal unusually gay and talkative,
and the regent protested that Munnich had never been a more agreeable
_convive_ than precisely to-day. Therefore, when the other guests
retired, he begged of Munnich to remain with him awhile; and the
field-marshal, thinking it might possibly enable him to prevent any
warning reaching the regent, consented to stay.

They spoke of past times, of the happy days when the Empress Anna yet
reigned, and when all breathed of pleasure and enjoyment at that happy
court; and perhaps it was these recollections that rendered Biron sad
and thoughtful. He was absent and low-spirited, and his large, flashing
eyes often rested with piercing glances upon the calm and smiling face
of Munnich.

"You all envy me on account of my power and dominion," said he to
Munnich; "of that I am not ignorant. But you know not with what secret
pain and anguish these few hours of splendor are purchased!--the
sleepless nights in which one fears seeing the doors open to give