ls. The Russians--the
English--vied for my smiles. But I loved the man. I never loved before:
I shall never love again; and after the sacrifices I have made for him,
nothing shall induce me to give him up. Tell me, I entreat, my dear M.
Savarin, where he is hiding. He has left the parental roof, and they
refused there to give me his address."

"My poor girl, don't be mechante. It is quite true that Gustave Rameau
is engaged to be married; and any attempt of yours to create scandal--"

"Monsieur," interrupted Julie, vehemently, "don't talk to me about
scandal! The man is mine, and no one else shall have him. His address?"

"Mademoiselle," cried Savarin, angrily, "find it out for yourself."
Then--repentant of rudeness to one so young and so desolate--he
added, in mild expostulatory accents: "Come, come, ma belle enfant, be
reasonable: Gustave is no loss. He is reduced to poverty."

"So much the better. When he was well off I never cost him more than a
supper at the Maison Doree; and if he is poor he shall marry me, and I
will support him!"

"You!--and how?"

"By my profession when peace comes; and meanwhile I have offers from a
cafe to recite warlike songs. Ah! you shake your head incredulously. The
ballet-dancer recite verses? Yes! he taught me to recite his own Soyez
bon pour moi. M. Savarin! do say where I can find mon homme."

"No."

"That is your last word?"

"It is."

The girl drew her thin shawl round her and hurried off. Savarin rejoined
his friends. "Is that the way you console yourself for the absence of
Madame?" asked De Breze, drily.

"Fie!" cried Savarin, indignantly; "such bad jokes are ill-timed. What
strange mixtures of good and bad, of noble and base, every stratum of
Paris life contains! There is that poor girl, in one way contemptible,
no doubt, and yet in another way she has an element of grandeur. On the
whole, at Paris, the women, with all their faults, are of finer mould
than the men."

"French gallantry has always admitted that truth," said Lemercier. "Fox,
Fox, Fox." Uttering this cry, he darted forward after the dog, who had
strayed a few yards to salute another dog led by a string, and caught
the animal in his arms. "Pardon me," he exclaimed, returning to his
friends, "but there are so many snares for dogs at present. They are
just coming into fashion for roasts, and Fox is so plump."

"I thought," said Savarin, "that it was resolved at all the sporting
clubs that, be the pinch