a mockery."

Graham gazed at her intently, and then turned his eyes on Savarin. He
guessed aright the truth. "Mademoiselle then is an author? In the style
of her friend Madame de Grantmesnil?"

"Bah!" said Savarin, "I should indeed be guilty of mockery if I paid
the Signorina so false a compliment as to say that in a first effort she
attained to the style of one of the most finished sovereigns of language
that has ever swayed the literature of France. When I say, 'Give us this
tale completed, and I shall be consoled if the journal does not gain the
aid of Madame de Grantmesnil,' I mean that in these pages there is
that nameless charm of freshness and novelty which compensates for many
faults never committed by a practised pen like Madame de Grantmesnil's.
My dear young lady, go on with this story,--finish it; when finished, do
not disdain any suggestions I may offer in the way of correction,--and I
will venture to predict to you so brilliant a career as author, that you
will not regret should you resign for that career the bravoes you could
command as actress and singer."

The Englishman pressed his hand convulsively to his heart, as if smitten
by a sudden spasm. But as his eyes rested on Isaura's face, which had
become radiant with the enthusiastic delight of genius when the path it
would select opens before it as if by a flash from heaven, whatever of
jealous irritation, whatever of selfish pain he might before have felt;
was gone, merged in a sentiment of unutterable sadness and compassion.
Practical man as he was, he knew so well all the dangers, all the
snares, all the sorrows, all the scandals menacing name and fame, that
in the world of Paris must beset the fatherless girl who, not less
in authorship than on the stage, leaves the safeguard of private life
forever behind her, who becomes a prey to the tongues of the public.
At Paris, how slender is the line that divides the authoress from the
Bohemienne! He sank into his chair silently, and passed his hand over
his eyes, as if to shut out a vision of the future.

Isaura in her excitement did not notice the effect on her English
visitor. She could not have divined such an effect as possible. On the
contrary, even subordinate to her joy at the thought that she had not
mistaken the instincts which led her to a nobler vocation than that of
the singer, that the cage-bar was opened, and space bathed in sunshine
was inviting the new-felt wings,--subordinate even to th