The Brockhaus establishment now became tremendously attractive to me.  Around Count Vincenz Tyszkiewitcz, who remained the lodestar of this small Polish world, gathered a great many other wealthy exiles, amongst whom I chiefly remember a cavalry captain of the name of Bansemer, a man of unlimited kindness, but of a rather frivolous nature; he possessed a marvellous team of four horses which he drove at such breakneck speed as to cause great annoyance to the people of Leipzig.  Another man of importance with whom I remember dining was General Bem, whose artillery had made such a gallant stand at Ostrolenka.

Many other exiles passed through this hospitable house, some of whom impressed us by their melancholy, warlike bearing, others by their refined behaviour.  Vincenz Tyszkiewitcz, however, remained my ideal of a true man, and I loved him with a profound adoration.  He, too, began to be interested in me; I used to call upon him nearly every day, and was sometimes present at a sort of martial feast, from which he often withdrew in order to be able to open his heart to me about the anxieties which oppressed him.  He had, in fact, received absolutely no news of the whereabouts of his wife and little son since they separated at Volhynien.  Besides this, he was under the shadow of a great sorrow which drew all sympathetic natures to him.  To my sister Louise he had confided the terrible calamity that had once befallen him.  He had been married before, and while staying with his wife in one of his lonely castles, in the dead of night he had seen a ghostly apparition at the window of his bedroom.  Hearing his name called several times, he had taken up a revolver to protect himself from possible danger, and had shot his own wife, who had had the eccentric idea of teasing him by pretending to be a ghost.  I had the pleasure of sharing his joy on hearing that his family was safe.  His wife joined him in Leipzig with their beautiful boy, Janusz.  I felt sorry not to be able to feel the same sympathy for this lady as I did for her husband; perhaps one of the reasons of my antipathy was the obvious and conspicuous way in which she made herself up, by means of which the poor woman probably tried to hide how much her beauty had suffered through the terrible strain of the past events.  She soon went back to Galicia to try and save what she could of their property, and also to provide her husband with a pass from the Austrian Government, by means of which he could follow her.

Then came the third of May.  Eighteen of the Poles who were still in Leipzig met together at a festive dinner in a hotel outside the town; on this day was to be celebrated the first anniversary of the third of May, so dear to the memory of the Poles.  Only the chiefs of the Leipzig Polish Committee received invitations, and as a special favour I also was asked.  I shall never forget that occasion.  The dinner became an orgy; throughout the evening a brass band from the town played Polish folksongs, and these were