altogether, and the sufferer must needs buy
a silver one. About's latest novel, 'Le Roman d'un Brave Homme' (The
Story of an Honest Man), is in quite another vein, a charming picture of
bourgeois virtue in revolutionary days. 'Madelon' and 'La Vielle Roche'
(The Old School) are also popular.

French critics have not found much to say of this non-evolutionist of
letters, who is neither pure realist nor pure romanticist, and who has
no new theory of art. Some, indeed, may have scorned him for the wise
taste which refuses to tread the debatable ground common to French
fiction. But the reading public has received him with less conscious
analysis, and has delighted in him. If he sees only what any clever man
may see, and is no profound psychologist, yet he tells what he sees and
what he imagines with delightful spirit and delightful wit, and tinges
the fabric of his fancy with the ever-changing colors of his own
versatile personality, fanciful suggestions, homely realism, and bright
antithesis. Above all, he has the great gift of the story-teller.

THE CAPTURE

From 'The King of the Mountains'

"ST! ST!"

I raised my eyes. Two thickets of mastic-trees and arbutus enclosed the
road on the right and left. From each tuft of trees protruded three or
four musket-barrels. A voice cried out in Greek, "Seat yourselves on the
ground!" This operation was the more easy to me, as my legs gave way
under me. But I consoled myself by thinking that Ajax, Agamemnon, and
the fiery Achilles, if they had found themselves in the same situation,
would not have refused the seat that was offered.

The musket-barrels were leveled upon us. It seemed to me that they
stretched out immeasurably, and that their muzzles were about to join
above our heads. It was not that fear disturbed my vision; but I had
never remarked so sensibly the desperate length of the Greek muskets!
The whole arsenal soon debouched into the road, and every barrel showed
its stock and its master.

The only difference which exists between devils and brigands is, that
devils are less black than they are said to be, and brigands more dirty
than people suppose. The eight bullies, who packed themselves in a
circle around us, were so filthy in appearance that I should have wished
to give them my money with a pair of tongs. You might guess, with a
little effort, that their caps had been red; but lye-wash itself could
not have restored the original color of their clothes.