to Rameau, and if he were armed with the right to inquire into
the source of this fortune, how exposed to the risks of disclosure would
become the secret Graham sought to conceal. Such a secret affecting
the memory of the sacred dead, affixing a shame on the scutcheon of
the living, in the irreverent hands of a Gustave Rameau,--it was too
dreadful to contemplate such a hazard. And yet, if Isaura were
the missing heiress, could Graham Vane admit any excuse for basely
withholding from her, for coolly retaining to himself the wealth for
which he was responsible? Yet, torturing as were these communings with
himself, they were mild in their torture compared to the ever-growing
anguish of the thought that in any case the only woman he had ever
loved--ever could love,--who might but for his own scruples and
prejudices have been the partner of his life, was perhaps now actually
the wife of another, and, as such, in what terrible danger! Famine
within the walls of the doomed city: without, the engines of death
waiting for a signal. So near to her, and yet so far! So willing to die
for her, if for her he could not live: and with all his devotion, all
his intellect, all his wealth, so powerless!

CHAPTER XIII.

It is now the middle of November-a Sunday. The day has been mild, and
is drawing towards its close. The Parisians have been enjoying the
sunshine. Under the leafless trees in the public gardens and the Champs
Elysees children have been at play. On the Boulevards the old elegance
of gaiety is succeeded by a livelier animation. Itinerant musicians
gather round them ragged groups. Fortune-tellers are in great request,
especially among the once brilliant Laises and Thaises, now looking
more shabby, to whom they predict the speedy restoration of Nabobs and
Russians, and golden joys. Yonder Punch is achieving a victory over the
Evil One, who wears the Prussian spiked helmet, and whose face has been
recently beautified into a resemblance to Bismarck. Punch draws to his
show a laughing audience of Moblots and recruits to the new companies
of the National Guard. Members of the once formidable police, now
threadbare and hunger-pinched, stand side by side with unfortunate
beggars and sinister-looking patriots who have served their time in the
jails or galleys.

Uniforms of all variety are conspicuous--the only evidence visible of
an enemy at the walls. But the aspects of the wearers of warlike
accoutrements are debonnaire an