a world--to save a
nation--to love a queen! I understand nothing but great ambitions and
noble alliances, and as for sentimental love, it troubles me but little.
My activity pants for a nobler and a wider field!

"I intend to attach myself to one of the great social parties, political
or religious, that agitate the world at this era. Which one I know not
yet, for my opinions are not very fixed. But as soon as I leave college
I shall devote myself to seeking the truth. And truth is easily found. I
shall read all the newspapers.

"Besides, Paris is an intellectual highway, so brilliantly lighted it is
only necessary to open one's eyes and have good faith and independence,
to find the true road.

"And I am in excellent case for this, for though born a gentleman, I
have no prejudices. My father, who is himself very enlightened and very
liberal, leaves me free. I have an uncle who is a Republican; an aunt
who is a Legitimist--and what is still more, a saint; and another uncle
who is a Conservative. It is not vanity that leads me to speak of
these things; but only a desire to show you that, having a foot in all
parties, I am quite willing to compare them dispassionately and make a
good choice. Once master of the holy truth, you may be sure, dear old
Lescande, I shall serve it unto death--with my tongue, with my pen, and
with my sword!"

Such sentiments as these, pronounced with sincere emotion and
accompanied by a warm clasp of the hand, drew tears from the old
Lescande, otherwise called Wolfhead.

CHAPTER II. FRUIT FROM THE HOTBED OF PARIS

Early one morning, about eight years after these high resolves, Louis
de Camors rode out from the 'porte-cochere' of the small hotel he had
occupied with his father.

Nothing could be gayer than Paris was that morning, at that charming
golden hour of the day when the world seems peopled only with good and
generous spirits who love one another. Paris does not pique herself on
her generosity; but she still takes to herself at this charming hour an
air of innocence, cheerfulness, and amiable cordiality.

The little carts with bells, that pass one another rapidly, make one
believe the country is covered with roses. The cries of old Paris cut
with their sharp notes the deep murmur of a great city just awaking.

You see the jolly concierges sweeping the white footpaths; half-dressed
merchants taking down their shutters with great noise; and groups of
ostlers, in Scotch caps, s