Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison Part 4

Alighting I took a cab and drove to the Hotel Landsberg, and, although tired, the scenes and surroundings were too novel for me to think of sleep. So I dined and went out to view the city, but as I will have occasion to refer to the place again, I will leave any description of it until another chapter.

In London there was an American banking house that has since failed, but which at this time was doing a large business in the way of issuing letters of credit. The firm was patronized chiefly by Americans. It issued credits, or letters of credit, without inquiry, to any one applying for them. While in London I called at their office, 449 Strand, and paying $750 was given a credit for 150, which I took under an a.s.sumed name. I wanted this letter to serve as an introduction to some of the bankers at Frankfort, and to open the way for the negotiation of the bonds. The Frankfort correspondents of the London firm were Kraut, Lautner & Co., on the Gallowsga.s.se. The next morning I repaired to the office of this firm, and producing my letter was very cordially received, and invited to make my headquarters in their office during my stay at Frankfort, which for the next day or two I did. However, I called on several other bankers, also feeling the way, and finally selected the firm of Murpurgo & Wiesweller, bankers widely known and of enormous wealth. I had several talks with Murpurgo, and told him I was arranging to purchase a number of copper mines in Austria, and if the deal was closed I should sell a large block of American bonds and use the cash I realized to pay for the purchase of the mines. I suppose he thought to make a good thing out of it, and was eager to purchase.

My reader will recall that payment upon all United States bonds payable to bearer, as mine were, could not be stopped, and so far as the innocent holder was concerned he was perfectly secure. But the custom among bankers was, whenever any bonds were lost by theft or fraud, to send out circulars containing the numbers, asking that the parties offering them might be questioned and held. But as American bonds were sold in millions all over the Continent, and were pa.s.sing freely from hand to hand, as a matter of fact, little or no attention was paid to such circulars, but, of course, had strangers of disreputable appearance offered bonds in large sums, the lists might have been scrutinized and awkward questions asked. Therefore I felt a trifle nervous, and determined to run no chance of losing my bonds--at least not all of them. So I resolved to go to Wiesbaden, some fifteen miles away, stop at some hotel under a different name, leave the bonds there, and take the morning train for Frankfort, conduct my negotiations, and return to Wiesbaden every evening. It was at this time easy to lose one's ident.i.ty in Wiesbaden, for the town then was, along with Baden-Baden, the Monte Carlo of the Continent, and adventurers, men and women, from all over Europe flocked there in thousands to chance their fortune in the gambling halls. Although a little in advance of this portion of my history, I will here relate an adventure of mine there, some years after the period of which I am speaking.

I will, however, preface my narrative with a brief account of the history of the place. The city of Wiesbaden, previous to the Franco-German war of 1870, was the chief town of one of those petty princ.i.p.alities which were plentifully sprinkled over the face of Europe.

Since the old Roman days the town had been famous for its hot springs, and consequently for its hot baths, and a good many people--during the Winter particularly--resorted there to bathe and to drink the waters. As a matter of course, the townspeople, as the custom of such places is, have recorded many a marvelous cure, ranging all the way from headache to hydrophobia. But still the town was of little importance save locally. The petty ruler, with a t.i.tle longer than his income, lived in the pretentious castle, beguiling the time by smoking cheap cigars or ordering on banquets whose piece de resistance consisted of Gebratene Gans und Kartoffeln, the unlucky bird being tribute in kind from the farmyard of some peasant subject living in a miserable hut on black bread.

But a change was impending. A mighty wizard had visited the place, with an eye quick to see the possibilities of the situation, with a brain to plan and a hand to execute. His name was Francois Blanc, the head of the great gambling establishment at Homburg. Vast as were his ambition and achievements, he was a man of the simplest tastes.

To see him--as I often have--in his seedy coat, his old-fas.h.i.+oned spectacles on the tip of his nose, one would have taken him for a country advocate whose wildest dreams were of a practice of two thousand thalers a year, with an old gig and wheezy mare to haul him around the country side from client to client. Before his Wiesbaden days he had been the guiding spirit in the direction of the splendid gambling halls, the Casino at Homburg. Blanc was impervious to flattery; a hard-headed, silent man, a man without enthusiasm and without weaknesses, who kept a lavish table and ate sparingly himself, who had a wine cellar rivaling that of the Autocrat of All the Russias and yet contented himself with sipping a harmless mineral water; who kept and directed a huge gambling machine--a mighty conglomeration of gorgeously decorated halls, wine parlors and music rooms, crammed day and night by giddy and excited throngs, but himself never indulging in anything more exciting than an after-dinner game of dominoes or a quiet drive with his wife through the country lanes.

Thus this Francois Blanc, with perfect equanimity, watched the thousand thousands of b.u.t.terflies and moths of society scorch their wings in the terrific flame that glowed in his Casino, while he looked on, a cynical observer, despising the fools enraptured with roulette and fascinated with rouge-et-noir.

But one thing he was not afraid of, and that was spending money. To compa.s.s his business ends he laid it out lavishly, and in the end he drew all Europe to Wiesbaden. Still broader and still deeper he laid the foundations of the fortune that ultimately grew to colossal proportions.

But he did not make Wiesbaden famous without keen opposition. He made the fortune of the beggarly Prince Karl and the whole hungry crowd of royal highnesses in spite of themselves. At every fresh opposition he simply opened his purse and a golden shower fell on them.

It required a hard head to withstand the attacks made on him when it became known that he had bought up both prince and munic.i.p.ality, and proposed to make Wiesbaden par excellence the gambling city of the Continent. But, despite of all, he pushed on his plans to wonderful success. A great park was laid out and stately buildings arose, all dedicated to the G.o.ddess of chance. Slim was the chance the votaries of the game had in his gorgeous halls. He threw out his money in millions, but he knew the weak, foolish heart of man, the egotism of each and every one of us, that leads us to ignore for ourselves the immutable law of numbers. So he counted upon his returns, and never counted in vain.

As I say, he had a hard head to withstand the attacks made upon him.

Every day the post brought hundreds of letters containing propositions of threats from people who had lost their money and demanded its return with fierce threats, pitiful supplications and warnings of intended suicide, place, date and hour carefully specified, so there could be no mistake, and more than one attempt was made upon his life. But the equanimity of Francois Blanc was equal to all adventures. Threats, prayers, temptations, left him untouched. This man of ice, self-possessed, cold, indifferent to the ruin of the thousands of victims of his will, had a fad or fancy. It was for raising red and white roses, and while the mad throngs were fluttering in frenzy around the tables in his halls at Homburg, Wiesbaden and Monte Carlo, he, hoe or trowel in hand, would be training and transplanting his roses, solicitous over an opening bud or deploring the ravages of an insect; or, again, refusing all invitations, would sit down with his wife to a dinner of boiled turnips and bacon, washed down with a gla.s.s of Vichy water and milk. This was the town and these the scenes constantly occurring there.

Now for my adventure. In 1870, just before the war cloud burst, covering all that part of the world, I was stopping for some weeks at the Hotel Na.s.sau. It stands in the main street, opposite the park gate leading to the Casino. All the world went to Wiesbaden to be amused. However fas.h.i.+onable frivolity and vice may be elsewhere, here it was strictly de rigueur, and to pretend to decency and sobriety would be to stamp one's self a heathen and barbarian, all unversed in the glorious flower-wreathed Primrose Way of our orb.

The daily routine for the throng began with coffee in bed at 8 a.m., then dressing gowns were donned, and the bath in underground floors of the hotel were sought and a bath had in the hot mineral waters, which were conducted to all the hotels direct from the hot springs of the town. Half an hour in the bath, then a light breakfast, preparatory to sallying out for an hour on the Spaziergang around the Quellen to drink the water, listen to the band, see and be seen, but, above all, to gossip and tell lies. At 11 a.m. the gambling began in the Casino, and with a rush the seats around the tables would be filled. Then speedily there would be rows behind rows of eager players or spectators, and what a sight it all was to the cool-headed observer.

With what keen interest all watched the result of the first turn of the card at the card tables and the color of the first hit at roulette. For all gamblers are superst.i.tious, and are devout believers in omens. Those whose luck or pocketbooks held out gambled steadily on, or, if luck turned against them, would leave the table, go to do some fantastic thing to change their luck and then return. At 2 p.m. the band (a very fine one) played in the Musik Saal, and most of the idlers and morning players gathered there to listen to the music and to drink and dine.

Here in this hall the intrigues begun on the promenade or in the gambling-rooms were helped along by the ample opportunities of meeting, with the pa.s.sions stimulated by the music and the wine. At 4 o'clock many took an afternoon nap. Then came the chief event of the day, the ponderous table d'hote. At 9 p.m. every one flocked to the Casino, and the game went merrily on until midnight. Then to bed, each and all with more or less Rudesheimer or Hochheimer stowed away.

At the time of which I speak many were my idle days, in which I was free to seek pleasure. I used to find much enjoyment in frequenting the Casino to watch the people and to play the role of "looker-on in Vienna," which, by the way, is a star role and therefore rather agreeable. One evening while watching the rouge-et-noir I noticed a lady just in front of me, magnificently dressed in all, save that there was an entire absence of jewelry. She was literally dressed to kill, and, although near 50, yet to the casual observer she seemed no more than 40, or even less. She was a well-preserved woman of the world, and was known as the Countess de Winzerole. This was the adventuress who had married Van Tromp some two years before. What a career had been that of this woman!

She had been mistress from first to last of a dozen men, n.o.blemen, diplomats, soldiers, but being an inveterate gambler, one after another saw, with dismay, the cash, estates, diamonds, carriages, costly furs and laces he showered upon her all go whirling into the ever-open maw of the Casino, or in the drawing-room games of the bon-ton in Paris or Petersburg. One brave youth, an officer in the Prussian Guards, had, in his infatuation for the Countess, and impregnable, as he thought, against bankruptcy by reason of his great fortune, tried to satisfy her cravings for splendor of entourage and her infatuation for gambling. The result was that one day the crack of a pistol-shot was heard in the Countess' chamber, and the servants rus.h.i.+ng in found the young bankrupt dead, lying across the bed, with a bullet through the heart. The next day a horde of clamorous creditors besieged the house, where the Countess calmly told them she had sent for her bankers and on the morrow they would be paid. That night his comrades buried their dead friend with military honors. At midnight the cortege pa.s.sed the hotel, and all eyes watched the lovely Countess robed in white as she appeared, her bosom heaving with emotion, while she waved a farewell to her dead lover. Ten minutes later she fled through the back door and over the garden wall, falling into the arms of another lover waiting there. He himself did not go the way of the last, but half of his fortune did; so one morning, leaving a polite note of farewell, he, taking for companion the dressing maid of his mistress, embarked for America.

At the time I met her the Countess' reputation was too well known and her beauty too much fallen off for her to make any more grand catches. A local banker at Wiesbaden became very friendly. However, the friends.h.i.+p lost all its warmth when the banker's stout wife one day caught them together, and having already provided herself with a whip in antic.i.p.ation, visited them both with a jealous woman's rage and a sound thras.h.i.+ng.

Now, the Countess spent her time around the tables, following the winners and getting douceurs from them. These were by no means small--most of them being gifts pure and simple, given from mere goodness of heart or sheer prodigality for there were too many gay and beautiful women flocking around ready to smile on winners in the game for the Countess now to make even a temporary conquest. However, at this period she lived well--even extravagantly--but, of course, saved nothing. As related, I first met the Countess here at the table where the game was going on. She had just staked and lost her last gulden. She was betting on the black, and four times in succession the red had won.

She turned, and looking in my face, implored me to bet a double Frederick on the red. I instantly placed the money on the red and won.

She begged me to transfer the stake to the black. I did so, and black won. Placing her hand on the stake, she said: "Sir, leave it; black will win again." Sure enough, it did. She seized the cash, $80, and handing me a double Frederick, said in her most bewitching manner: "Oh, sir; be generous and let me keep this!" I said: "Certainly, madame." She promptly staked it, and in two turns of the cards it was gone.

We met several times the next few days, but merely bowed without speaking.

One afternoon, entering the Musik Saal, I took a small table, and, ordering a bottle of wine, sat down to listen to the music and watch the throng. The Countess came in, and seeing me alone, came straight to me, shook hands warmly and sat down. I, of course, invited her to have a gla.s.s of wine. We soon finished that bottle and ordered another. We had what was to me a most amusing talk. She was a character--had been everywhere and spoke all the modern languages. She a.s.sured me that I was a very charming gentleman. In paying my bill I incautiously displayed a gold piece or two, and, seeing she was going to ask me to give her one, I saved her the trouble by placing one in her hand. In time we became quite good friends. Twice I paid her board bill in order to rescue her wardrobe from the clutches of her landlord, and once I saved her from the hands of an irate washerwoman. When, after a time, I left Wiesbaden, I left her as gay, as prosperous and as extravagant as ever.

I did not see Wiesbaden again for over two years, but the second week of January, 1873, found me there. The Prussian Government now ruled in the town, and refused to renew the license of M. Blanc. It had expired fourteen days before my arrival. What a change had fallen on the town!

The Casino was gloomy and cold, the gay crowds had fled. All the life and movement of the street and promenade was forever a thing of the past. I had located there simply as a precaution, disposing of large amounts of bonds in Frankfort, fifteen miles away, and returning to Wiesbaden each night. At this time I put up at the Hotel Victoria, near the railroad station. One Sat.u.r.day, going up to Frankfort rather late, my business detained me until after dark. On reaching the station I happened to look into the third-cla.s.s waiting-room, and there I spied a figure alone that looked familiar. I soon recognized the Countess. From her appearance and surroundings it was plain that there was now no wealthy lover at her beck and call. Because she looked so unhappy I gave her a cordial greeting, which she returned rather wearily. It was very cold, and I was clad in furs from head to foot; besides, I was, apparently, on the full floodtide of fortune, having with me then a very large sum of money, some of which she could have had for the asking.

I said: "Come, Countess; let us go together first cla.s.s to Wiesbaden."

She replied that she lived at Bieberich, a small town on the Rhine, four miles below Mayence, and four miles from Wiesbaden. As the train was starting I bade her good-bye, but asked permission to call on her the next day. She consented, giving her address as Hotel Bellevue.

The next morning was very cold, but I enjoyed that, so, after a light breakfast, I started over the hills for a walk to the town, arriving there soon after noon. I found the hotel, a fifth-rate one, and entering, was shown to the room of the Countess. What a change for her from the past! Her room was a small one, plastered, but unpapered, and with a few articles of furniture of the cheapest. The poor woman was too evidently in a state of frightful depression, and well she might be.

Hers had been a b.u.t.terfly existence, life all one Summer holiday, no hostages given to fortune, no bond taken against future wreck or change.

Like the b.u.t.terfly, she had roamed from flower to flower, sipping the sweet only, or, like the cricket, had merrily piped all the Summer through, thinking suns.h.i.+ne and bloom eternal. Even when youth and beauty had fled, and lovers no longer stood ready to attend and serve, she still found a good aftermath in her happy harvest field on the floors of the Casino, but when the Casino lights at Wiesbaden went out, then, for the Countess, had the Winter indeed come.

My walk had given me something of an appet.i.te, and it now being 2 o'clock I at once proposed to have dinner. To my surprise she said she had already dined, and upon my remarking that it was early for dinner, she replied that it was, but as she was owing quite a hotel bill she feared to give any trouble lest the landlord might present his bill, and in default of payment she was liable to arrest and a very considerable imprisonment. I need hardly tell my readers that they do these things differently in Germany than with us. I could easily afford to be generous with other people's money, and did not mean to see the Countess suffer for a hotel bill. Ringing the bell, I told the waiter to bring me some dinner and a bottle of wine. The Countess looked very uneasy over my order. Of late years she had seen life from the seamy side and had observed so much of the falseness and cruelty of men that she had apparently lost all faith in them, and no doubt thought me an adventurer, one who might possibly dine and order expensive wines, leaving her to face an angry landlord. While dinner was being prepared she told me she was in the greatest distress; had not even a single kreutzer to pay postage, and, worst of all, was owing for two weeks'

board. She had no means to fly, no place to fly to, and if she remained incarceration awaited her. She had for weeks been writing everywhere to every one she had known, former lovers, distant, but long-neglected relatives. The result--dead silence; no response from anywhere. She at last was alone, caught in the world's great snare, with no friendly hand to shelter or save. It was a sight to read this woman's face. There swept over it all the conflicting waves of regrets over might-have-beens and the gloomy shades of despair. Both proprietor and waiter appeared to set the table; it was for one, but winegla.s.ses for two were brought unsolicited. They were officiously anxious to please "Your Highness," as they christened me. The Countess sat looking gloomily out of the window across the Rhine, while I watched her face until an infinite pity for the s.h.i.+pwrecked soul filled my mind. Dismissing the waiter I went to the window, and standing by her chair I said: "Don't worry any more, Countess; I will pay your bill." At the same time drawing from an inner pocket a book crammed with notes, I placed seven 100-thaler notes in her lap, saying: "This one is for your board bill, and the other six are for your pocket money." I need not attempt to picture her amazement and delight. Certainly she appeared very grateful. We had a long conversation and I was talking to her like a brother. Perhaps had she still been beautiful and young my manner and language might have been less brotherly. I told her she had danced and sung, but at last the time had come for toil, and suggested she should go to Brussels, which is ever thronged with tourists, where her knowledge of languages and her savoir faire could be made available in one of the many shops where gimcracks are sold to travelers. I advised her to offer a small premium for a position. This she said she would do.

In saying good-bye I promised to see her again the next night, but I found a telegram awaiting me on my arrival at my hotel which called me to meet two of my companions at Calais, and I was forced to leave by an early train. The next time I saw the Countess was at Newgate. She visited me there, and was in perfect despair over my position and her inability to serve me. For those who may care to know more of her, I will say that, following my advice, she went to Brussels and obtained a position in a Tourist Exchange and within a year married the proprietor, who was a Councilman and a man of considerable local importance. She made him a good wife and became a true mother to his five daughters.

When he died he made her guardian to both of them and his wealth. She became very religious, and to the last was a devout member of the Roman Church. She died in 1886, thirteen years after the episode at Rieberich.

Her ashes rest in the little graveyard of the Convent des Soeurs de Ste.

Agnes, on the Charleroi road, two miles from the city, and on her monument is engraved:

TO ELIZABETH, The Beloved Wife, Pious and True. She Served G.o.d and Has Gone to Live with the Angels

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE LOVELY COUNTESS WAVED A FAREWELL TO HER DEAD LOVER."--Page 81.]

CHAPTER IX.

"WE HAVE ANOTHER JOB FOR YOU."

About every second day I called on Murpurgo & Weissweller in Frankfort, and talked over matters, and easily saw that everything would go right.

All that was necessary was to produce the bonds, and they would hand over the cash. Here in America, though we scrutinized a man's garments, the quality and fit of the same having a certain value, we never take much stock in a stranger because an artist tailor has decorated him, or because he has plenty of money. But in the seventies, all over Europe, from the mere fact that a man was an American and had the appearance, dress and manner of a gentleman, they always took it for granted that he must be a gentleman.

Therefore, seeing that I was taken for a capitalist, and that no question would be asked, I told the firm my deal in Austrian copper mines appeared so certain to be completed that I had ordered the securities I intended to dispose of to be forwarded from London. Giving them a list, they gave me a memorandum offer for the lot. I accepted their offer. The next hour was a very bad sixty minutes for me. There was considerable delay, and my suspicions were fully aroused, and at one time I thought they had made some discovery; but, as a fact, my suspicions were wholly unfounded.

The banker and clerks were simply hurrying around, anxious to oblige me and have the money out of the bank before it closed. At last the amounts were figured up and verified by myself. One of the partners hastened off to the bank and in five minutes returned with a very pretty parcel of 200,000 gulden; but, in spite of the evident safety of the business, I was nervous, and resolved to put a good distance between me and the town as speedily as possible. Before 5 o'clock I was in Weisbaden, and, going directly to the Casino, where they kept at all times a million francs, in addition to German money, and where the possession of large sums attract no attention, I readily exchanged my money for 350 one-thousand-franc notes.

Going to Rothschild's, I bought exchange on New York for $80,000, and left the same night for London. Very many times I journeyed over that route in after years, but never with so light a heart. I was young and enthusiastic; all the glamour and poetry of life hung around me, while I was too inexperienced to notice whither I was drifting, or to understand the powerful current upon which I had embarked. In fact, I had sold myself to do the devil's work, and day by day the chain would tighten, while all the time I thought I could when I pleased stop short on the downward grade and take the back track. More experience would have taught me that every one who forsook the path of honor not only thought the same, but had a purpose to even everything up some day and make rest.i.tution. And to-day there is not a criminal but who, at the start, looks forward to the time when he will no longer war against society, but will go out and come in at peace with all men. But when one comes to think of it, what a fool's game is that of a man who fights against society!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEY FOUND A BODY, RAGGED, EMACIATED, FORLORN. IT WAS BREA."--Page 120.]

The criminal has but two arms, very short and weak they are, and of flesh, too. He has but two eyes that cannot possibly see around the nearest corner, while society has a million arms of steel that can reach around the world, and a million eyes which are never closed, that can pierce the thickest gloom with sleepless vigilance. The poor, unhappy criminal, by fortunate dexterity, may escape for a little, but at last society lays her iron grasp on him, and with giant force hurls him into a dungeon. As for the short-lived, tempestuous success that some few criminals have, is there any sweetness in it? I say no; success won in honest fight is sweet, but I know from my own experience that the success of crime brings no sweetness, no blessing with it, but leaves the mind a prey to a thousand haunting fears that make s.h.i.+pwreck of peace.

There were no sleeping cars in all Europe then, so I sat up in a compartment and really enjoyed the ride, viewing the country by moonlight. At midnight we arrived at Calais, and took the boat for Dover. Then the express for London. Arriving at Victoria Station I took a cab to Mrs. Green's, where I had breakfast a l'anglaise.

I had a little adventure that night going down the Strand. At Bow street, on the corner, is the "Gaiety," a famous drinking saloon, flooded with light inside and out, with more than a half-dozen handsome barmaids. Barmaids are a great inst.i.tution in England--that is, they have never more than one man behind a bar, none at all in the railway bars. And a fearful source of ruin to the girls, as they are to thousands of young men--I might say tens of thousands every year. These girls are chosen for their beauty and attractiveness. Yearly, in London and in other large cities of England, a "Beautiful Barmaid Show" is one of the stated features, and is held in some public garden or monster hall. These exhibitions are wonderfully popular, and thousands flock to them. Various beauty contests are got up, and all the popular features of voting, etc., are in vogue. Those of the young women who win the prizes make their fortunes, for they are at once engaged at high salaries for the more aristocratic barrooms. Fancy what an attraction and even fascination the gin palace with lovely girls behind the bar must have to the youth of a great city. Many of them strangers, busy during the day, but with nothing to do at night, with the choice of the street or a sombre room, but sure of a sweet smile of welcome from a fascinating woman in the barrooms. How easily and how naturally, too, does a young man become ensnared. But how if he has no money? No smiles and no welcome for him! And then what a temptation to help himself to his master's cas.h.!.+

Happy for our country that our laws forbid women entering that occupation!

While standing in the brilliant light of the Gaiety, watching the thronging crowd of pa.s.sers-by, with its sprinkling of unfortunates, I saw one poor, bedraggled creature, wan-faced and hollowed-eyed, with hunger and despair imprinted on every feature. Looking sharply at her she caught my eye, and, crossing the street, she spoke to me. The poor thing looked as if she had been dragged through all the gutters of London. She said that herself and her baby were actually starving--that her husband had been out of work thirteen weeks and had then deserted her, owing twelve weeks' rent, and the landlady had just told her that unless she paid her some rent before 9 o'clock that night she would be turned out with her baby into the streets.

Those of my readers who have been in London know something of what it would mean for this woman to be turned out into the streets of that fearful Babylon. No wonder, then, the poor soul was frantic with despair. In her poverty a s.h.i.+lling looked as big as a cartwheel, and when I said to her: "Will you promise to go direct home if I give you a sovereign?" she cried out: "Oh, sir, G.o.d forever bless you if you will!"

I gave her the $5, and as she started to run I caught her by the sleeve and said: "I will go home with you to see if you have told me the truth." She lived close by, in one of those teeming courts that run off from the Strand. We found her baby naked on a heap of rags, in a small, dirty room, containing two broken chairs for furniture. I felt that there were in the large city thousands of similar cases, but this one was brought home to me. I was young and impressionable--more than that, I had other people's money to be liberal with; so I called up the landlady, who, almost dumb with surprise, received the arrears of rent, along with a month in advance. Eliza, for that was her name, told me she could get work if she had clean clothes for herself and baby, which she could buy for 2. I gave her five, and giving her my address in New York, told her to find work and let me know how she got on. She did find work in an eel-pie shop in Red Lion Square, High Holborn. I saw her two years later in London, and possibly may refer to her again in this story.