ee. But--but--"

"Well, but? oh, I guess. Thou seest me well dressed, no longer dancing
and declaiming at cafes: and thou thinkest that Julie has disgraced
herself? she is unfaithful?"

Gustave had not anticipated that frankness, nor was the idea which it
expressed uppermost in his mind when he said, "but, but--" There were
many buts all very confused, struggling through his mind as he spoke.
However, he answered as a Parisian sceptic, not ill-bred, naturally
would answer:

"My dear friend, my dear child" (the Parisian is very fond of the word
child or enfant in addressing a woman), "I have never seen thee so
beautiful as thou art now; and when thou tellest me that thou are no
longer poor, and the proof of what thou sayest is visible in the furs,
which, alas'. I cannot give thee, what am I to think?"

"Oh, mon homme, mon homme! thou art very spirituel, and that is why I
loved thee. I am very bete, and that is excuse enough for thee if thou
couldst not love me. But canst thou look me in the face and not know
that my eyes could not meet thine as they do, if I had been faithless to
thee even in a thought, when I so boldly touched thine arm? Viens chez
moi, come and let me explain all. Only--only let me repeat, if another
has rights over thee which forbid thee to come, say so kindly, and I
will never trouble thee again."

Gustave had been hitherto walking slowly by the side of Julie, amidst
the distant boom of the besiegers' cannon, while the short day began to
close; and along the dreary boulevards sauntered idlers turning to look
at the young, beautiful, well-dressed woman who seemed in such contrast
to the capital whose former luxuries the "Ondine" of imperial Paris
represented. He now offered his arm to Julie; and, quickening his pace,
said, "There is no reason why I should refuse to attend thee home,
and listen to the explanations thou dost generously condescend to
volunteer."

CHAPTER IX.

"Ah, indeed! what a difference! what a difference!" said Gustave to
himself when he entered Julie's apartment. In her palmier days, when
he had first made her acquaintance, the apartment no doubt had been
infinitely more splendid, more abundant in silks and fringes and flowers
and nicknacks; but never had it seemed so cheery and comfortable and
home-like as now. What a contrast to Isaura's dismantled chilly salon!
She drew him towards the hearth, on which, blazing though it was, she
piled fresh billets, seated him in