d meanwhile lend me 200
francs."

"Mon cher, desole to refuse; but I was about to ask you to share your
200 francs with me who live chiefly by my pen; and that resource is cut
off. Still, il faut vivre--one must dine."

"That is a fact, and we will dine together to-day at my expense; limited
liability, though--eight francs a head."

"Generous Monsieur, I accept. Meanwhile let us take a turn towards the
Madeleine."

The two Parisians quit the cafe, and proceed up the Boulevard. On their
way they encounter Savarin. "Why," said De Breze, "I thought you had
left Paris with Madame."

"So I did, and deposited her safely with the Morleys at Boulogne. These
kind Americans were going to England, and they took her with them. But
I quit Paris! No: I am old; I am growing obese. I have always been
short-sighted. I can neither wield a sword nor handle a musket. But
Paris needs defenders; and every moment I was away from her I sighed to
myself, 'il faut etre la!' I returned before the Vandals had possessed
themselves of our railways, the convoi overcrowded with men like myself,
who had removed wives and families; and when we asked each other why we
went back, every answer was the same, 'il faut etre la.' No, poor child,
no--I have nothing to give you."

These last words were addressed to a woman young and handsome, with
a dress that a few weeks ago might have been admired for taste and
elegance by the lady leaders of the ton, but was now darned, and dirty,
and draggled.

"Monsieur, I did not stop you to ask for alms. You do not seem to
remember me, M. Savarin."

"But I do," said Lemercier, "surely I address Mademoiselle Julie
Caumartin."

"Ah, excuse me, le petit Frederic," said Julie with a sickly attempt at
coquettish sprightliness; "I had no eyes except for M. Savarin."

"And why only for me, my poor child?" asked the kindhearted author.

"Hush!" She drew him aside. "Because you can give me news of that
monster Gustave. It is not true, it cannot be true, that he is going to
be married?"

"Nay, surely, Mademoiselle, all connection between you and young Rameau
has ceased for months--ceased from the date of that illness in July
which nearly carried him off."

"I resigned him to the care of his mother," said the girl; "but when he
no longer needs a mother, he belongs to me. Oh, consider, M. Savarin,
for his sake I refused the most splendid offers! When he sought me, I
had my coupe, my opera-box, my cachemires, my jewe