an interest in their house. Well, but so far as I know, Longueville

has but one son of two-and-thirty, who is not at all like our man, and
to whom he gave fifty thousand francs a year that he might marry a

minister's daughter; he wants to be made a peer like the rest of 'em.
--I never heard him mention this Maximilien. Has he a daughter? What

is this girl Clara? Besides, it is open to any adventurer to call
himself Longueville. But is not the house of Palma, Werbrust & Co.

half ruined by some speculation in Mexico or the Indies? I will clear
all this up."

"You speak a soliloquy as if you were on the stage, and seem to
account me a cipher," said the old admiral suddenly. "Don't you know

that if he is a gentleman, I have more than one bag in my hold that
will stop any leak in his fortune?"

"As to that, if he is a son of Longueville's, he will want nothing;
but," said Monsieur de Fontaine, shaking his head from side to side,

"his father has not even washed off the stains of his origin. Before
the Revolution he was an attorney, and the DE he has since assumed no

more belongs to him than half of his fortune."
"Pooh! pooh! happy those whose fathers were hanged!" cried the admiral

gaily.
Three or four days after this memorable day, on one of those fine

mornings in the month of November, which show the boulevards cleaned
by the sharp cold of an early frost, Mademoiselle de Fontaine, wrapped

in a new style of fur cape, of which she wished to set the fashion,
went out with two of her sisters-in-law, on whom she had been wont to

discharge her most cutting remarks. The three women were tempted to
the drive, less by their desire to try a very elegantcarriage, and

wear gowns which were to set the fashion for the winter, than by their
wish to see a cape which a friend had observed in a handsome lace and

linen shop at the corner of the Rue de la Paix. As soon as they were
in the shop the Baronne de Fontaine pulled Emilie by the sleeve, and

pointed out to her Maximilien Longueville seated behind the desk, and
engaged in paying out the change for a gold piece to one of the

workwomen with whom he seemed to be in consultation. The "handsome
stranger" held in his hand a parcel of patterns, which left no doubt

as to his honorable profession.
Emilie felt an icy shudder, though no one perceived it. Thanks to the

good breeding of the best society, she completely concealed the rage
in her heart, and answered her sister-in-law with the words, "I knew

it," with a fulness of intonation and inimitable decision which the
most famous actress of the time might have envied her. She went

straight up to the desk. Longueville looked up, put the patterns in
his pocket with distracting coolness, bowed to Mademoiselle de

Fontaine, and came forward, looking at her keenly.
"Mademoiselle," he said to the shopgirl, who followed him, looking

very much disturbed, "I will send to settle that account; my house
deals in that way. But here," he whispered into her ear, as he gave

her a thousand-franc note, "take this--it is between ourselves.--You
will forgive me, I trust, mademoiselle," he added, turning to Emilie.

"You will kindly excuse the tyranny of business matters."
"Indeed, monsieur, it seems to me that it is no concern of mine,"

replied Mademoiselle de Fontaine, looking at him with a bold
expression of sarcastic indifference which might have made any one

believe that she now saw him for the first time.
"Do you really mean it?" asked Maximilien in a broken voice.

Emilie turned her back upon him with amazinginsolence. These words,
spoken in an undertone, had escaped the ears of her two sisters-in-

law. When, after buying the cape, the three ladies got into the
carriage again, Emilie, seated with her back to the horses, could not

resist one last comprehensive glance into the depths of the odious
shop, where she saw Maximilien standing with his arms folded, in the

attitude of a man superior to the disaster that has so suddenly fallen
on him. Their eyes met and flashed implacable looks. Each hoped to

inflict a cruel wound on the heart of a lover. In one instant they
were as far apart as if one had been in China and the other in

Greenland.
Does not the breath of vanitywither everything? Mademoiselle de

Fontaine, a prey to the most violent struggle that can torture the
heart of a young girl, reaped the richest harvest of anguish that

prejudice and narrow-mindedness ever sowed in a human soul. Her face,
but just now fresh and velvety, was streaked with yellow lines and red

patches; the paleness of her cheeks seemed every now and then to turn
green. Hoping to hide her despair from her sisters, she would laugh as

she pointed out some ridiculous dress or passer-by; but her laughter
was spasmodic. She was more deeply hurt by their unspoken compassion

than by any satirical comments for which she might have revenged
herself. She exhausted her wit in trying to engage them in a

conversation, in which she tried to expend her fury in senseless
paradoxes, heaping on all men engaged in trade the bitterest insults

and witticisms in the worst taste.
On getting home, she had an attack of fever, which at first assumed a

somewhat serious character. By the end of a month the care of her
parents and of the physician restored her to her family.

Every one hoped that this lesson would be severe enough to subdue
Emilie's nature; but she insensibly fell into her old habits and threw

herself again into the world of fashion. She declared that there was
no disgrace in making a mistake. If she, like her father, had a vote

in the Chamber, she would move for an edict, she said, by which all
merchants, and especially dealers in calico, should be branded on the

forehead, like Berri sheep, down to the third generation. She wished
that none but nobles should have the right to wear the antique French

costume, which was so becoming to the courtiers of Louis XV. To hear
her, it was a misfortune for France, perhaps, that there was no

outward and visible difference between a merchant and a peer of
France. And a hundred more such pleasantries, easy to imagine, were

rapidly poured out when any accident brought up the subject.
But those who loved Emilie could see through all her banter a tinge of

melancholy. It was clear that Maximilien Longueville still reigned
over that inexorable heart. Sometimes she would be as gentle as she

had been during the brief summer that had seen the birth of her love;
sometimes, again, she was unendurable. Every one made excuses for her

inequality of temper, which had its source in sufferings at once
secret and known to all. The Comte de Kergarouet had some influence

over her, thanks to his increased prodigality, a kind of consolation
which rarely fails of its effect on a Parisian girl.

The first ball at which Mademoiselle de Fontaine appeared was at the
Neapolitan ambassador's. As she took her place in the first quadrille

she saw, a few yards away from her, Maximilien Longueville, who nodded
slightly to her partner.

"Is that young man a friend of yours?" she asked, with a scornful air.
"Only my brother," he replied.

Emilie could not help starting. "Ah!" he continued, "and he is the
noblest soul living----"

"Do you know my name?" asked Emilie, eagerly interrupting him.
"No, mademoiselle. It is a crime, I confess, not to remember a name

which is on every lip--I ought to say in every heart. But I have a
valid excuse. I have but just arrived from Germany. My ambassador, who

is in Paris on leave, sent me here this evening to take care of his
amiable wife, whom you may see yonder in that corner."

"A perfect tragic mask!" said Emilie, after looking at the
ambassadress.

"And yet that is her ballroom face!" said the young man, laughing. "I
shall have to dance with her! So I thought I might have some

compensation." Mademoiselle de Fontaine courtesied. "I was very much
surprised," the voluble young secretary went on, "to find my brother

here. On arriving from Vienna I heard that the poor boy was ill in
bed; and I counted on seeing him before coming to this ball; but good

policy will always allow us to indulge family affection. The Padrona
della case would not give me time to call on my poor Maximilien."

"Then, monsieur, your brother is not, like you, in diplomatic
employment."

"No," said the attache, with a sigh, "the poor fellow sacrificed
himself for me. He and my sister Clara have renounced their share of

my father's fortune to make an eldest son of me. My father dreams of a