Sledges made their appearance in the streets, and all seemed delighted that winter had set in, in earnest.
The next morning, after breakfast, Fergus went to the mansion of Count Platurn, whose position he had ascertained on the previous day.

The name had been scored under, in his list, as one on whom he might confidently rely.
"I am the bearer of a letter to Count Platurn," he said, to the somewhat gorgeously-dressed functionary who opened the door.

"I have a message to deliver to him, personally." The doorkeeper closed the door behind him and spoke to a footman, who went away and returned, in a minute or two, and told Fergus to follow him to a spacious and comfortable library, where the count was sitting alone.
"You are the bearer of a letter to me, sir ?" he said, in a pleasant tone of voice.

"Whence do you bring it ?" "From Count Eulenfurst of Dresden," Fergus said, producing it.
The count gave an exclamation of pleasure.
"Has he completely recovered ?" he asked.

"Of course, we heard of the outrage of which he was a sufferer." "He was going on well when I saw him last, count." The count opened the letter and read it, with an air of growing surprise as he went on.