you say, is dead; but he bequeathed no
legacy to the lady who did not hold herself married to him. But there
are those connected with him who, knowing the history, think that some
compensation is due for the wrong so unconsciously done to her, and yet
more to any issue of a marriage not meant to be irregular or illegal.
Permit me now to explain why I sought you in another guise and name than
my own. I could scarcely place in M. Lebeau the confidence which I now
unreservedly place in the Vicomte de Mauleon."

"Cela va sans dire. You believed, then, that calumny about the jewels;
you do not believe it now?"

"Now! my amazement is, that any one who had known you could believe it."

"Oh, how often, and with tears of rage in my exile--my wanderings--have
I asked that question of myself! That rage has ceased; and I have but
one feeling left for that credulous, fickle Paris, of which one day I
was the idol, the next the byword. Well, a man sometimes plays chess
more skilfully for having been long a mere bystander. He understands
better how to move, and when to sacrifice the pieces. Politics, M. Vane,
is the only exciting game left to me at my years. At yours, there is
still that of love. How time flies! we are nearing the station at which
I descend. I have kinsfolk of my mother's in these districts. They are
not Imperialists; they are said to be powerful in the department. But
before I apply to them in my own name, I think it prudent that M. Lebeau
should quietly ascertain what is their real strength, and what would be
the prospects of success if Victor de Mauleon offered himself as depute
at the next election. Wish him joy, M. Vane! If he succeed, you will
hear of him some day crowned in the Capitol, or hurled from the Tarpeian
rock."

Here the train stopped. The false Lebeau gathered up his papers,
readjusted his spectacles and his bag, descended lightly, and, pressing
Graham's hand as he paused at the door, said, "Be sure I will not forget
your address if I have anything to say. Bon voyage!"

CHAPTER VII.

Graham continued his journey to Strasbourg. On arriving there he felt
very unwell. Strong though his frame was, the anguish and self-struggle
through which he had passed since the day he had received in London
Mrs. Morley's letter, till that on which he had finally resolved on
his course of conduct at Paris, and the shock which had annihilated his
hopes in Isaura's rejection, had combined to exhaust its endur