from the quarrel.

On Ginevra's arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound
silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin's

studio, she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her
carriage and demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which

commanded respect. Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to
radiate light, so inspired was it with the enthusiasmpeculiar to

Corsicans,--which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long hair
and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion; the corners of her

mouth, too softly defined, and the lips, a trifle too marked, gave
signs of that kindliness which strong beings derive from the

consciousness of their strength.
By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some

degree, contradicted by a marbleforehead, on which lay an almost
savage pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of

a Corsican. In that was the only link between herself and her native
land. All the rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of

her Lombard beauty, was so seductive that it was difficult for those
who looked at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen attraction

that her old father caused her, as matter of precaution, to be
accompanied to and from the studio. The only defect of this truly

poetic creature came from the very power of a beauty so fully
developed; she looked a woman. Marriage she had refused out of love to

her father and mother, feeling herself necessary to the comfort of
their old age. Her taste for painting took the place of the passions

and interests which usually absorb her sex.
"You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles," she said, after

advancing a little way among her companions. "Good-morning, my little
Laure," she added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young

girl who was painting apart from the rest. "That head is strong,--the
flesh tints a little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent."

Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces
beamed with the expression of a mutualaffection. A faint smile

brightened the lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and
walked slowly to her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and

paintings on her way, and bidding good-morning to each of the young
girls of the first group, not observing the unusualcuriosity excited

by her presence. She was like a queen in the midst of her court; she
paid no attention to the profound silence that reigned among the

patricians, and passed before their camp without pronouncing a single
word. Her absorption seemed so great that she sat down before her

easel, opened her color-box, took up her brushes, drew on her brown
sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at her picture, examined her

palette, without, apparently, thinking of what she was doing. All
heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned toward her. If the

young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their impatience with
the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the less directed

on Ginevra.
"She hasn't noticed it!" said Mademoiselle Roguin.

At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she
had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the

group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now
separated her from them; but she said nothing.

"It hasn't occurred to her that they meant to insult her," said
Matilde; "she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls

will be if she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of
bounds, mademoiselle," she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra.

The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear.
She rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side

of the partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio,
and seemed to be examining the sash through which her light came,--

giving so much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the
green serge, which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that

height, her eye was on a level with a slight opening in the partition,
the real object of her efforts, for the glance that she cast through

it can be compared only to that of a miser discovering Aladdin's
treasure. Then she sprang down hastily and returned to her place,

changed the position of her picture, pretended to be still
dissatisfied with the light, pushed a table close to the partition, on

which she placed a chair, climbed lightly to the summit of this
erection, and again looked through the crevice. She cast but one

glance into the space beyond, which was lighted through a skylight;
but what she saw produced so strong an effect upon her that she

tottered.
"Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you'll fall!" cried Laure.

All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of
their coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium,

and replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:--
"Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!"

She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table
as far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and

seemed to be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now
thrown upon it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was

wholly bent on getting as near as possible to the closet, against the
door of which she finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare

her palette in the deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear,
distinctly, a sound which had strongly excited her curiosity the

evening before, and had whirled her young imagination across vast
fields of conjecture. She recognized the firm and regular breathing of

a man whom she had just seen asleep. Her curiosity was satisfied
beyond her expectations, but at the same time she felt saddled by an

immense responsibility. Through the opening in the wall she had seen
the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock bed, faintly lighted from

above, lay the form of an officer of the Guard. She guessed all.
Servin was hiding a proscribed man!

She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to
examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath

might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political
victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to

her wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise.
"Better that I should be here," thought she, "to prevent some luckless

accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless
betrayal."

This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently
shown to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because

the change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural
manner; besides, at this moment, she was too keenlypreoccupied to

perceive the reason of her removal.
Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the

world, than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech,
miss its effect through the contempt or the indifference of the

intended victim. It seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion
to the height that enemy is raised above us. Ginevra's behavior was an

enigma to all her companions; her friends and enemies were equally
surprised; for the former claimed for her all good qualities, except

that of forgiveness of injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for
displaying that vice of nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the

life of a studio, still, the specimens she had now and then given of
her vindictive disposition had left a strong impression on the minds

of her companions.
After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion

that the Italian's silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all
praise; and the bankingcircle, inspired by her, formed a project to

humiliate the aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of
sarcasms which presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie.

Madame Servin's arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the
shrewdness that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had

noticed, analyzed, and mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation
of Ginevra's mind, which prevented her from even hearing the bitterly

polite war of words of which she was the object. The vengeance
Mademoiselle Roguin and her companions were inflicting on Mademoiselle

Thirion and her group had, therefore, the fatal effect of driving the
young ULTRAS to search for the cause of the silence so obstinately

maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. The beautiful Italian became the
centre of all glances, and she was henceforth watched by friends and

foes alike.
It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from

fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and
mischief ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to