"How so?"

"Well, he has queer notions." "Notions shared, I believe, by many of your countrymen ?"

Those

"I should think not many. poor simpletons yonder may have caught them from their French fellow-workmen, but I don't think that even the gobemouches in our National Reform Society open their mouths to swallow such wasps."

"Yet I believe the association to which

most of those ouvriers belong had its ori-
gin in England."

"Indeed! what association ?"
"The International."

"Ah, I have heard of that."

Lebeau turned his green spectacles full on Graham's face as he said slowly, And what do you think of it?"

Graham prudently checked the disparaging reply that first occurred to him, and said, "I know so little about it that I would rather ask you."

"I think it might become formidable if it found able leaders who knew how to use it. Pardon me-how came you to know of this café? Were you recommended to it?"

"No; I happened to be in this neighbourhood on business, and walked in, as I might into any other café."

a dissentient voice was raised as to the
existence of a Supreme Being, but, with
one exception, it soon sank into silence.
No voice was raised in defence of private
property. These sages appeared for the
most part to belong to the class of ou-
vriers or artisans. Some of them were
foreigners Belgian, German, English;
all seemed well off for their calling. In-
deed, they must have had comparatively
high wages, to judge by their dress and
the money they spent on regaling them-
selves. The language of several was well
chosen, at times eloquent. Some brought
with them women who seemed respect-
able, and who often joined in the conversa-
tion, especially when it turned upon the
law of marriage as a main obstacle to all
personal liberty and social improvement."
If this was a subject on which the women
did not all agree, still they discussed it,
without prejudice and with admirable
sang froid. Yet many of them looked
like wives and mothers. Now and then a
young journeyman brought with him a
young lady of more doubtful aspect, but
such a couple kept aloof from the others.
Now and then, too, a man evidently of
higher station than that of ouvrier, and
who was received by the philosophers
with courtesy and respect, joined one of
the tables and ordered a bowl of punch
for general participation. In such occa-
sional visitors, Graham, still listening,
detected a writer of the press; now and
then, a small artist, or actor, or medical
student. Among the habitués there was
one man, an ouvrier, in whom Graham
could not help feeling an interest.
was called Monnier, sometimes more fa-
miliarly Armand, his baptismal appella-
tion. This man had a bold and honest
expression of countenance. He talked
like one who, if he had not read much, had
thought much on the subjecs the loved
to discuss. He argued against the capital
of employers quite as ably as Mr. Mill
has argued against the right of property
in land. He was still more eloquent
against the laws of marriage and heritage.
But his was the one voice not to be si-
lenced in favor of a Supreme Being. He
had at least the courage of his opinions,
and was always thoroughly in earnest.
M. Lebeau seemed to know this man, and
honoured him with a nod and a smile,
when passing by him to the table he gen-
erally occupied. This familiarity with a
man of that class, and of opinions so ex-
treme, excited Graham's curiosity. One
evening he said to Lebeau, "A queer fel-
low that you have just nodded to."

He

"You don't interest yourself in the great social questions which are agitated below the surface of this best of all possible worlds?"

“I can't say that I trouble my head much about them."

"A game at dominoes before M. Georges arrives?"

"Willingly. Is M. Georges one of those agitators below the surface?"

"No indeed. It is for you to play." Here M. Georges arrived, and no further conversation on political or social questions ensued.

It

Graham had already called more than once at M. Lebeau's office, and asked him to put into good French various letters on matters of business, the subjects of which had been furnished by M. Renard. The office was rather imposing and stately, considering the modest nature of M. Lebeau's ostensible profession. occupied the entire ground-floor of a corner house, with a front-door at one angle and a back-door at the other. The anteroom to his cabinet, and in which Graham had generally to wait some minutes before he was introduced, was generally well filled, and not only by persons who, by their dress and outward appearance, might be fairly supposed sufficiently illit

erate to require his aid as polite letter- and I meant to ask you either to recomwriters not only by servant-maids and mend to me a sharp lawyer, or to tell me grisettes, by sailors, zouaves, and jour-how I can best get at your famous police neymen workmen - but not unfrequently here." "Police?"

"What can this mean?" thought Graham. "Is it really that this humble busi- Graham, while he thus said, naturally ness avowed is the cloak to some polit- looked Lebeau in the face- not pryingly, ical conspiracy concealed the Interna- not significantly, but as a man generally tional Association?" And, so pondering, does look in the face the other man whom the clerk one day singled him from the he accosts seriously. The change in the crowd and admitted him into M. Lebeau's face he regarded was slight, but it was cabinet. Graham thought the time had unmistakable. It was the sudden meetnow arrived when he might safely ap-ing of the eyebrows, accompanied with proach the subject that brought him to the Faubourg Montmartre.

PUNCTUALLY at eight o'clock Graham Vane had taken his seat at a corner table at the remote end of the Café Jean Jacques, called for his cup of coffee and his evening journal, and awaited the arrival of M. Lebeau. His patience was not tasked long. In a few minutes the French- | man entered, paused at the comptoir, as was his habit, to address a polite salutation to the well-dressed lady who there presided, nodded as usual to Armand Monnier, then glanced round, recognized Graham with a smile, and approached his table with the quiet grace of movement by which he was distinguished.

Seating himself opposite to Graham, and speaking in a voice too low to be heard by others, and in French, he then said

"In thinking over your communication this morning, it strikes me as probable, perhaps as certain, that this Louise Duval, or her children, if she have any, must be entitled to some moneys bequeathed to her by a relation or friend in England. What say you to that assumption, M. Lamb?"

"You are a sharp fellow," answered Graham. "Just what I say to myself. Why else should I be instructed to go to such expense in finding her out? Most likely, if one can't trace her, or her children born before the date named, any such moneys will go to some one else; and that some one else, whoever he be, has commissioned.my employer to find But I don't imagine any sum due to her or her heirs can be much, or that the matter is very important; for, if so, the thing would not be carelessly left in the hands of one of the small fry like myself, and clapped in along with a lot of other business as an off-hand job."

out.

"Will you tell me who employed you?" "No, I don't feel authorized to do that at present; and I don't see the necessity of it. It seems to me, on consideration, a matter for the police to ferret out; only, as I asked before, how should I get at the police?"

"That is not difficult. It is just possible that I might help you better than any lawyer or any detective."

"Why, did you ever know this Louise Duval?"

"Excuse me, M. Lamb: you refuse me your full confidence; allow me to imitate your reserve."

"Oho!" said Graham; "shut up as close as you like; it is nothing to me. Only observe there is this difference between us, that I am employed by another. He does not authorize me to name him and if I did commit that indiscretion, I might lose my bread and cheese. Whereas you have nobody's secret to guard but your own, in saying whether or not you ever knew a Madame or Mademoiselle Duval. And if you have some reason for not getting me the information I am instructed to obtain, that is also a reason for not troubling you farther. And after all, old boy" (with a familiar slap on Lebeau's stately shoulder) — “after all, it is I who would employ you; you don't employ me. And if you find out the lady, it is you who would get the £100, not I."

M. Lebeau mechanically brushed, with a light movement of hand, the shoulder which the Englishman had so pleasantly touched, drew himself and chair some inches back, and said, slowly —

"M. Lamb, let us talk as gentleman to gentleman. Put aside the question of money altogether, I must first know why your employer wants to hunt out this poor Louise Duval. It may be to her injury, and I would do her none if you offered thousands where you offer pounds. I forestall the condition of mutual confidence; I own that I have known her-it is many years ago; and, M. Lamb, though a Frenchman very often injures a woman from love, he is in a worse plight for bread and cheese than I am if he injures her for money."

"Is he thinking of the duchess's jewels?" thought Graham.

66

Bravo, mon vieux," he said aloud; "but as I don't know what my employer's motive in his commission is, perhaps you can enlighten me. How could his inquiry injure Louise Duval ?"

"I cannot say; but you English have the power to divorce your wives. Louise Duval may have married an Englishman, separated from him, and he wants to know where he can find, in order to criminate and divorce her, or it may be to insist on her return to him."

"Bosh! that is not likely."

"Perhaps, then, some English friend she may have known has left her a bequest, which would of course lapse to some one else if she be not living.' "By gad!" cried Graham, "I think

you hit the right nail on the head: c'est | such additions as prudent speculations on cela. But what then?"

"Well, if I thought any substantial benefit to Louise Duval might result from the success of your inquiry, I would really see if it were in my power to help you. But I must have time to consider." "How long?

? "

"I can't exactly say; perhaps three or four days."

"Bon! I will wait. Here comes M. Georges. I leave you to dominoes and him. Good-night."

his own account might contribute, the modest means necessary to his resumed position. And as he always contended against your generous offers, no consideration should ever tempt him either to appropriate to his personal use a single sou intrusted to him for a public purpose, or to accept from friendship the pecuniary aid which would abase him into the hireling of a cause. No! Victor de Mauléon despises too much the tools that he employs to allow any man hereafter to say, Thou also wert a tool, and hast been paid for thy uses.'

Late that night M. Lebeau was seated alone in a chamber connected with the cabinet in which he received visitors. A "But to restore the victim of calumny ledger was open before him, which he to his rightful place in this gaudy world, scanned with careful eyes, no longer stripped of youth and reduced in fortune, screened by spectacles. The survey is a task that may well seem impossible. seemed to satisfy him. He murmured, To-morrow he takes the first step towards "It suffices—the time has come;" closed the achievement of the impossible. Exthe book-returned it to his bureau, perience is no bad substitute for youth, which he locked up-and then wrote in and ambition is made stronger by the cipher the letter here reduced into Eng- goad of poverty. lish:

"DEAR AND NOBLE FRIEND, — Events march; the Empire is everywhere undermined. Our treasury has thriven in my hands; the sums subscribed and received by me through you have become more than quadrupled by advantageous speculations, in which M. Georges has been a most trustworthy agent. A portion of them I have continued to employ in the mode suggested — viz., in bringing together men discreetly chosen as being in their various ways representatives and ringleaders of the motley varieties that, when united at the right moment, form a Parisian mob. But from that right moment we are as yet distant. Before we can call passion into action, we must prepare opinion for change. I propose now to devote no inconsiderable portion of our fund towards the inauguration of a journal which shall gradually give voice to our designs. Trust to me to insure its success, and obtain the aid of writers who will have no notion of the uses to which they ultimately contribute. Now that the time has come to establish for ourselves an organ in the press addressing higher orders of intelligence than those which are needed to destroy, and incapable of reconstructing, the time has also arrived for the reappearance in his proper name and rank of the man in whom you take so gracious an interest. In vain you have pressed him to do so before; till now he had not amassed together, by the slow process of petty gains and constant savings, with

"Thou shalt hear of his news soon."

BOOK FIFTH.

CHAPTER I.

THE next day at noon M. Louvier was closeted in his study with M. Gandrin.

"Yes," cried Louvier, "I have behaved very handsomely to the beau Marquis. No one can say to the contrary."

"True," answered Gandrin. "Besides the easy terms for the transfer of the mortgages, that free bonus of 1000 louis is a generous and noble act of munificence."

"Is it not! and my youngster has already begun to do with it as I meant and expected. He has taken a fine apartment; he has bought a coupé and horses; he has placed himself in the hands of the Chevalier de Finisterre; he is entered at the Jockey Club. Parbleu, the 1000 louis will be soon gone."

"And then?"

“And then !—why, he will have tasted the sweets of Parisian life. He will think with disgust of the vieux manoir. He can borrow no more. I must remain sole mortgagee, and I shall behave as handsomely in buying his estates as I have behaved in increasing his income."

Here a clerk entered and said "that a monsieur wished to see M. Louvier for a few minutes, in private, on urgent business."

"Tell him to send in his card."

"He has declined to do so, but states that he has already the honour of your acquaintance."

"A writer in the press, perhaps.; or is he an artist ?"

"I have not seen him before, monsieur, but he has the air très comme il faut."

"Well, you may admit him. I will not detain you longer, my dear Gandrin. My homages to Madame. Bon jour." Louvier bowed out M. Gandrin, and then rubbed his hands complacently. He was in high spirits. "Aha, my dear Marquis, thou art in my trap now. Would it were thy father instead," he muttered chucklingly, and then took his stand on his hearth, with his back to the fireless grate. There entered a gentleman, exceedingly well-dressed-dressed according to the fashion, but still as became one of ripe middle age, not desiring to pass for younger than he was.

"My dear old friend, do you not remember me? You are less altered than I am.”

Louvier stared hard and long; his lip fell, his cheek paled, and at last he faltered out, "Ciel! is it possible! Victor - the Vicomte de Mauléon?"

"At your service, my dear Louvier."

There was a pause; the financier was evidently confused and embarrassed, and not less evidently the visit of the "dear old friend" was unwelcome.

"Vicomte," he said at last, "this is indeed a surprise; I thought you had long since quitted Paris for good."

"L'homme propose,' &c. I have returned, and mean to enjoy the rest of my days in the metropolis of the Graces and the Pleasures. What though we are not so young as we were, Louvier, we have more vigour in us than the new generation; and though it may no longer befit us to renew the gay carousals of old, life has still excitements as vivid for the social temperament and ambitious mind. Yes, the roi des viveurs returns to Paris for a more solid throne than he filled before."

"Are you serious?"

He was tall, with a kind of lofty ease in his air and his movements; not slight of frame, but spare enough to disguise the strength and endurance which belong to sinews and thews of steel, freed from all superfluous flesh, broad across the shoulders, thin in the flanks. His dark hair had in youth been luxuriant in thickness and curl; it was now clipped short, and had become bare at the temples, but it still retained the lustre of its colour and the crispness of its ringlets. He wore neither beard nor moustache, and the darkness of his hair was contrasted by a clear fairness of complexion, healthful, though somewhat pale, and eyes of that rare grey tint which has in it no shade of blue peculiar eyes, which give a very distinct character to the face. The man must have been singularly handsome in youth; he was handsome still, though probably in his forty-seventh or forty-haveeighth year, doubtless a very different kind of comeliness. The form of the features and the contour of the face were those that suit the rounded beauty of the Greek outline, and such beauty would naturally have been the attribute of the countenance in earlier days. But the cheeks were now thin and with lines of care or sorrow between nostril and lip, so that the shape of the face seemed lengthened, and the features had become more salient.

Louvier gazed at his visitor with a vague idea that he had seen him before, and could not remember where or when; but, at all events, he recognized at the first glance a man of rank and of the great world.

"As serious as the French gaiety will permit one to be."

"Alas, M. le Vicomte! Can you flatter yourself that you will regain the society you have quitted, and the name you

Louvier stopped short; something in the Vicomte's eye daunted him.

“The name Í have laid aside for convenience of travel. Princes travel incognito, and so may a simple gentilhomme. Regain my place in society,' say you? Yes; it is not that which troubles me." "What does ?"

"The consideration whether on a very modest income I can be sufficiently esteemed for myself to render that society more pleasant than ever. Ah, mon cher! why recoil? why so frightened? Do you think I am going to ask you for money? Have I ever done so since we parted? and did I ever do so before without repaying you? Bah! you roturiers are worse than the Bourbons. You never