He was indeed a philosopher!' 'And did you ever put his skill to the test ?' asked one of the officers, with a smile.
'Not I, forsooth, for I have ever kept myself clear of black magic or diablerie of the sort.

My comrade Pierce Scotton, who was an Oberst in the Imperial cavalry brigade, did pay him a rose noble to have his future expounded.

If I remember aright, the stars said that he was over-fond of wine and women--he had a wicked eye and a nose like a carbuncle.

'They foretold also that he would attain a marshal's baton and die at a ripe age, which might well have come true had he not been unhorsed a month later at Ober-Graustock, and slain by the hoofs of his own troop.

Neither the planets nor even the experienced farrier of the regiment could have told that the brute would have foundered so completely.' The officers laughed heartily at my companion's views, and rose from their chairs, for the bottle was empty and the evening beginning to draw in.