the police to save the little man. Hence a party of gendarmes arrived just in time to tear his prey from the baron.

The latter, infuriated, determined to take Lynch law, and raised his massive club to kill the culprit. At this moment Therese stepped forth, clutched his arm, and looked him steadfastly in the face. The baron was startled, and tried to escape from her; but she exerted her sway, and he ordered Weller and Kohler to be handed over to the police. By two o'clock the couple had safely reached Victor's lodgings, where Weller handed him over the reticule. With this our hero proceeded straight to the baroness, whom he found in her garden. It was a dangerous hour for both of them, for the recollections of their last interview shot across their minds; but the baroness had strength of will enough to escape from the temptation, and Victor rushed from the house in a state of frenzy.

Exactly as the clock struck three, the Count Follange proceeded to his wife's boudoir, determined to have a serious conversation with her; but her waiting-maid would not permit him to enter for the present. There was reason for it, as the lady was having a stormy interview with Stifter. She was determined on breaking with him, and demanded from him the key of her dressing-room door, which she had given him. The lovely fiend, however, soon hit on a plan to torture him into obedience: she feigned a desire for his departure, as she wished to speak with her husband. But Stifter thought she was going to receive some new lover, and would not accept her assurances. Hence she bade him listen to her from the dressing-room, where he was to wait till the clock struck three, and then retire without a sound.

It was a fearful hour for the countess: she had to feign love for her husband, whom she detested, and at any moment feared lest Stifter might burst from his concealment, and ruin her. Still not a sign revealed her anxiety. She was most kind and affectionate to her husband, and soon made him believe that she intended to change her mode of conduct. As the clock struck three she heaved a sigh of relief, for she heard the door open in the dressing-room. But the count heard it too; and though she told him that her maid had probably left the door ajar, he went to be personally satisfied. During his absence the countess was in a frightful state of mind: she breathlessly listened for some discovery, but her fears were removed when the count returned with a key he had picked up on the ground. She was saved! it was the key she had lent Stifter, and he had kept his word.

At four o'clock Victor proceeded to call on his uncle Duvallet, who had sent for him, and was much surprised to hear that the evidence of her love which Alice had shown in the morning had induced him to carry out a long-meditated scheme. He was about to give up business at once, and proceed to an estate he had bought in the country. He thought it better that Victor should not see Alice before their departure, but when the wound in her heart was cured he would write to him. Victor had not known before what he would lose by Alice's departure, but the old gentleman was resolute because he knew he was in the right, and Victor returned home in a very sad mood, after saying good day to Madame Duvallet, where he found Stifter awaiting him.

When the latter had told Victor all his woes, he listened to the story his friend had to tell, and a gleam of hope flashed across his mind. He

knew, at any rate, where his wife was going, and he determined to follow her, and keep her in sight. Victor, glad to get away from the town, offered to accompany him, and the artist hastened to pack up a few traps, and promised to meet Victor at the station at six o'clock. At this moment the merry laugh of children was heard from the baron's garden they looked down from the window, and Stifter recognised his Therese. He called to her, but the distance was too great, and his wife speedily returned to the house.

:

While this scene had been taking place, M. Kohler had been narrating to Friederike, in his choicest language, the bravery her Weller had displayed, and the young lady was so proud of him, that she consented to make him happy. Kohler then hastened away to the station, which he reached by half-past five, for he had missed many trains during the day, but at six three started.

Among others who proceeded by the express train was his fair widow, and he was taking a sad farewell of her, when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a rough voice exclaimed, "Throw him into the carriage, and take him to Klippenberg." Poor Kohler looked up in dismay: it Iwas the old baron. He turned and fled. Hardly had the train started, than, to Kohler's amazement, Victor and his friend rushed into the station, just too late for it; but they proceeded by another train.

At this point the exigencies of the story compel M. Hackländer to break the dramatic unity. Morning and evening poor Kohler goes at six to the station, and sees friends departing-first the Duvallets, then M. and Mme. Weller-till at last he makes up his mind to take a tour himself, for he had never been on a railway yet. One evening, then, he took his seat in the farthest corner, and set off for the village nearest to Klippenberg, for he longed to see his widow again.

Some months have passed, and one evening, at seven, we rejoin Victor and Stifter, who are slowly recovering from their great sorrow. Victor occupies his time by teaching the school-children singing. Stifter gives them lessons in drawing, and they are both tolerably happy. On this evening Victor, however, was to be startled from his dreamy existence by a sudden shock. A party of ladies and gentlemen came to hear the children sing, and among them was Alice, grown quite a woman. She, however, paid not the slightest attention to Victor, and he felt intuitively that he had lost her for ever.

M. Kohler had put up at the village inn, where a plump, buxom landlady attended to his wants most kindly. The next day he went for a walk in the environs. He soon came to a pair of massive iron gates, which were hospitably open, and walked along the avenue. Suddenly he heard the sound of childish laughter, and saw a lady seated beneath the trees. He gazed steadfastly on her: it was she-his widow of the railway station! He bounded towards her with all the grace he could assume, but, recognising the young Baroness von Molitor by her side, he started back in terror: he had entered the lion's den-the dungeon was yawning for him. Therese, however, soon removed his fears, by telling him that the baron was quite tamed, and that his wife had returned to him. This was confirmed by the old gentleman himself, who insisted on Kohler proceeding with a gig to the village of Klippenhein, and asking for M. Stifter, the lady's husband.

Here was a pretty affair! Kohler regarded his fancied widow reproachfully, but old associations compelled his obedience. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when he found his old friend Victor, and told Stifter that his wife expected him at the castle. The artist hurriedly set off with M. Kohler, scarcely crediting his happiness, while Victor remained seated in the churchyard, in most melancholy mood. Suddenly he heard the rustling of a silken dress near him, and, looking up, recognised Alice. She had been led to believe by her crafty papa that Victor had lost his fortune, and was compelled to take a situation as an humble schoolmaster. It was the old story: pity was akin to love. Need we dwell on the blessed scene, or show how Alice's doubts were dispelled? Arm in arm the happy couple walked in the direction of M. Duvallet's house, their hearts purified by the suffering they had endured.

As the clock struck ten a man-servant showed the artist into the suite of apartments occupied by his wife, and he was amazed at all the luxury that surrounded her. Formerly she had begrudged every shilling laid out in comforts; now her apartments were splendidly furnished. Stifter's attention was most attracted by a magnificent atelier, such as he had dreamed of for years, but he passed through it, and entered his wife's sitting-room. As he drew near her, she said, "Good evening, Ferdinand !" The past was forgotten, and her husband threw himself, weeping, at his wife's feet. They were interrupted by the entrance of the baroness, who told them they were expected to supper at M. Duvallet's, and there was no time to lose. When they reached the house, the baroness kissed Alice affectionately on the forehead, and wished her joy, for she knew the conspiracy beforehand, and she was enabled to meet Victor quite calmly. It was a happy evening to all concerned, especially to M. Kohler, whom his old friend quizzed unmercifully for the interest he took in the buxom landlady of the Blue Pig.

It was very true: M. Kohler found everybody so happy around him, either married or on the point of being so, that he saw no reason why he should remain single any longer. He walked home from Duvallet's house in a state of great exhilaration; but, on reaching the railway, which he had to cross, he heard the shrill whistle of an up-coming train. True to his instincts, he stopped to inspect it, but to his horror overheard a conversation between the hostess and a female friend which boded little for his future felicity if he married her. The train, however, came up, and from one of the carriages M. Kohler heard a lady asking for water. Her husband stepped out to get some, and stumbled against Kohler, who recognised the happy Weller, returning from his wedding tour. He implored him to enter the carriage for a moment to keep his wife quiet, and good-hearted M. Kohler obeyed. Just at the moment, though, that Weller returned, and our old friend was about to get out, the whistle. sounded, and the train sped onwards to its destination.

The lady's complaints sent Kohler gradually to sleep, and he suffered from a terrific dream. He fancied himself already married to the plump hostess, and that she was leading him an awful life. He was aroused by a scream, and, on opening his eyes, found that the train had arrived at the Residency! The sight of the familiar old station revived him, and the hearty welcome he received from all the officials soothed his heart. He had sacrificed his portmanteau and carpet-bag, but had retained his blessed liberty.

IT is needless for us to say who the persons were of whose names the street functionary in the Rue Lepelletier was ignorant.

Contrary to his usual habit when alone with Bianca, the Marquis was silent all the way home; nor did he depart from his taciturnity on their arrival at the Hôtel de Saverne, save to salute her in the most formal manner when they separated for the night. The change was a great relief to her, though she could hardly refrain from speculating on the cause; but she soon dismissed the subject from her mind, other thoughts of far deeper interest resuming their place there. Several days had passed since last she received a letter from her father, and Monsieur de Gournay was so punctual a correspondent that Bianca was becoming anxious about him, fearing that his health might have suffered from the traditional bad character of the English climate.

The Marquis had his speculations also. Seated in the corner of his box, like a spider in the centre of its web, his eyes had watched Bianca's movements throughout the evening. He saw that she was not occupied by the performance on the stage-he felt, to his mortification, that his own words fell unheeded on her ear-and he set himself to discover, if possible, the nature of her preoccupation. Of whom or of what was she thinking? He had too little belief in filial attachment to give Bianca credit for that which was really in her thoughts.

"At her age, with her beauty," he said to himself, "this girl must have seen and listened to some one, and she cherishes the recollection, or why this excessive coldness whenever I address her? I have shown her father and herself the utmost kindness-well, she cannot quarrel with the word, it is kindness, are they not both paupers? I am not yet too old to inspire a passion-no man is who can feel one-I have wealth unbounded-all the luxuries in the world might be hers if she chose to command them-and still she turns from me, and from them, with indifference! Hortense is wrong: it must be as I say. She has a lover! If I could but discover him! His fate would be as agreeable as that which is likely to be the fate of her credulous father-more so, perhaps, if he were as fairly in my power. Ah! what is the meaning of that sudden change of countenance? She was looking-where? Towards the stalles d'orchestre. Who can be there? I see many faces turned this way, and no wonder! A lorgnette is directed full upon this box. A young man holds it. There is impatience on his lips-no

other expression. But he is very persevering-the glass is not removed. Ah! now he takes it away, and speaks to somebody that is sitting beside him. They rise together and prepare to leave the house. And Bianca -what of her? Passive as before. Is it hypocrisy or unconsciousness? I cannot tell-but-I suspect her. All women, those who are young especially, merit suspicion."

"Certainly"-these were Monsieur de Saverne's ruminations in the carriage, and afterwards in his own chamber-" certainly the two men I saw outside the Académie were the same I observed within it. The air of that vaurien, who is clearly not a man of rank, cannot be mistaken. I have seen his face before, somewhere. That of his companion is unknown to me. As I raised the window both of them were staring hard at us at her I should say-for their glances did not meet mine. It was too dark on her side to allow me to see if she noticed them. If it be as I think, there will be more of this. I will keep close watch. Nothing shall escape me. Luckily every one here is devoted to my will. Not an hour should one of them remain were it otherwise. Nevertheless, Baptiste shall have stricter orders. There is no man living inaccessible to bribery, but woe to him in whom I discover it! How beautiful she is! Ah! Bianca, Bianca, I cannot resolve to lose you! You must, you shall be mine!"

Restless and dissatisfied, Monsieur de Saverne walked up and down the room while he formed his resolution. What course should he adopt to make his words and wishes correspond? He had already taken one step towards their fulfilment. Monsieur de Gournay was in London, and everything was arranged for keeping him there: all but the last instructions had been given. Their transmission depended on Bianca. If she were cruel-so ran the Marquis's meditations-they must be sent at once, for fear of his return; if consenting, would the danger, considering De Gournay's character, be less? At all events, at every risk, he must tempt the issue of his project.

There are moments in men's minds when they throw aside all the calculations which have hitherto guided them, and allow themselves to be governed by a sudden impulse; and so it befel with the Marquis de Saverne.

"What hinders me," he said, "from trying my fortune now? She has been proof against the schemes of Hortense. I will see what she yields to fear."

He stopped at a secrétaire that stood near him, and opened a concealed drawer, in which were lying a brace of pistols, with damascened barrels of exquisite workmanship, and each engraved on the stock, in gold and platina, with his cypher and armorial bearings.

"Ah, Monsieur Lepage," he said, as he took up one of them, "when you made this instrument and its fellow you little thought to what use it would first be turned. But who can predict the destiny of a weapon? As well predict one's own!"

He examined the pistol as he spoke.

"Loaded! Well, I fancy there is no necessity for that. The sight of an object of this sort is generally enough for a woman. The empty barrel would answer the purpose. But it is no matter. Let it be as it is." He thrust the weapon into the pocket of his dressing-gown, reclosed