the richest country for
supplies, guarding the left bank of the Seine and a watercourse to
convoy them to Paris. The incidents of war prevented that: he has a
better plan now. The victory of the army of the Loire at Orleans opens
a new enterprise. We shall cut our way through the Prussians, join that
army, and with united forces fall on the enemy at the rear. Keep this a
secret as yet, but rejoice with me that we shall prove to the invaders
what men who fight for their native soil can do under the protection of
Heaven."

"Fox, Fox, mon cheri," said Lemercier, as he walked towards the cafe
Riche with De Breze; "thou shalt have a festin de Balthazar under the
protection of Heaven."

CHAPTER XV.

On leaving Lemercier and De Breze, Savarin regained the Boulevard,
and pausing every now and then to exchange a few words with
acquaintances--the acquaintances of the genial author were
numerous--turned into the quartier Chaussee d'Antin, and gaining a
small neat house, with a richly-ornamented facade, mounted very
clean, well-kept stairs to a third story. On one of the doors on the
landing-place was nailed a card, inscribed, "Gustave Rameau, homme de
lettres." Certainly it is not usual in Paris thus to afficher one's self
as a "man of letters"? But Genius scorns what is usual. Had not Victor
Hugo left in the hotel-books on the Rhine his designation "homme de
lettres"? Did not the heir to one of the loftiest houses in the peerage
of England, and who was also a first-rate amateur in painting, inscribe
on his studio when in Italy, "--artiste"? Such examples, no doubt, were
familiar to Gustave Rameau, and "homme de lettres" was on the scrap of
pasteboard nailed to his door.

Savarin rang; the door opened, and Gustave appeared. The poet was, of
course, picturesquely attired. In his day of fashion he had worn within
doors a very pretty fanciful costume, designed after portraits of the
young Raffaelle; that costume he had preserved--he wore it now. It
looked very threadbare, and the pourpoint very soiled. But the beauty of
the poet's face had survived the lustre of the garments. True, thanks
to absinthe, the cheeks had become somewhat puffy and bloated. Grey was
distinctly visible in the long ebon tresses. But still the beauty of
the face was of that rare type which a Thorwaldsen or a Gibson seeking a
model for a Narcissus would have longed to fix into marble.

Gustave received his former chief with a certain air of reserved