r to be an author?"

"Frankly, no: principally because in that case the chances are that she
would marry an author; and French authors, at least in the imaginative
school, make very uncomfortable husbands."

"Ah! you think the Signorina will marry one of those uncomfortable
husbands,--M. Rameau, perhaps?"

"Rameau! Hein! nothing more likely. That beautiful face of his has
its fascination. And to tell you the truth, my wife, who is a striking
illustration of the truth that what woman wills heaven wills, is bent
upon that improvement in Gustave's moral life which she thinks a union
with Mademoiselle Cicogna would achieve. At all events, the fair Italian
would have in Rameau a husband who would not suffer her to bury her
talents under a bushel. If she succeeds as a writer (by succeeding I
mean making money), he will see that her ink-bottle is never empty; and
if she don't succeed as a writer, he will take care that the world shall
gain an actress or a singer. For Gustave Rameau has a great taste for
luxury and show; and whatever his wife can make, I will venture to say
that he will manage to spend."

"I thought you had an esteem and regard for Mademoiselle Cicogna. It is
Madame your wife, I suppose, who has a grudge against her?"

"On the contrary, my wife idolizes her."

"Savages sacrifice to their idols the things they deem of value;
civilized Parisians sacrifice their idols themselves, and to a thing
that is worthless."

"Rameau is not worthless; he has beauty and youth and talent. My wife
thinks more highly of him than I do; but I must respect a man who has
found admirers so sincere as to set him up in a journal, and give him
carte blanche for terms to contributors. I know of no man in Paris more
valuable to me. His worth to me this morning is thirty thousand francs.
I own I do not think him likely to be a very safe husband; but then
French female authors and artists seldom take any husbands except upon
short leases. There are no vulgar connubial prejudices in the pure
atmosphere of art. Women of genius, like Madame de Grantmesnil, and
perhaps like our charming young friend, resemble canary-birds,--to sing
their best you must separate them from their mates."

The Englishman suppressed a groan, and turned the conversation.

When he had set down his lively companion, Vane dismissed his fiacre,
and walked to his lodgings musingly.

"No," he said inly; "I must wrench myself from the very memory of that
haunting