ABSTRACT
On an early hour the next day, Waldorf found himself on the road to Vienna, with no other introduction to the world than a letter to Baron Litchstein, from the Solitary, a hundred dollars, a good address, and a handsome person. The springing tide of youthful blood flowed warmly through his veins, his eyes swam in a dream of delight, the hectic blush / of joy dimpled on his cheek, and his very horse seemed to partake his rapture as it gallopped through the sunny roads.
