he young girl with the black eyes, languidly.

The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through the
studio. The words: "Here she comes!" passed from mouth to mouth, and
then the most absolute silence reigned.

To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of
Amelie Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place toward
the end of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the Bourbons
had shaken many friendships which had held firm under the first
Restoration. At this moment families, almost all divided in opinion,
were renewing many of the deplorable scenes which stain the history
of all countries in times of civil or religious wars. Children, young
girls, old men shared the monarchial fever to which the country was
then a victim. Discord glided beneath all roofs; distrust dyed with its
gloomy colors the words and the actions of the most intimate friends.

Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate
him? The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father.
The Baron di Piombo was among those of Napoleon's devoted servants who
had co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of
denying his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron
remained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all
the more open to condemnation because she made no secret of the grief
which the second Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she
had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the twofold news of
Napoleon's captivity on the "Bellerophon," and Labedoyere's arrest.

The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most
devoted royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an
idea of the exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror
inspired by the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie's
action may now seem to be, it was at that time a very natural expression
of the prevailing hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin's first pupils,
had occupied the place that was now taken from her since the first
day of her coming to the studio. The aristocratic circle had gradually
surrounded her. To drive her from a place that in some sense belonged to
her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a species of artistic
pain; for all artists have a spot of predilection where they work.

Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the