r seen since the day he had brought
him the list of contributors, and was then referred to the publisher,
whom he supposed M. Lebeau had secured, and received the first quarter
of his salary in advance. The salary was a trifle compared to the extra
profits thus generously volunteered. He called at Lebeau's office, and
saw only the clerk, who said that his chef was abroad.

Prosperity produced a marked change for the better, if not in the
substance of Rameau's character, at least in his manners and social
converse. He no longer exhibited that restless envy of rivals, which is
the most repulsive symptom of vanity diseased. He pardoned Isaura her
success; nay, he was even pleased at it. The nature of her work did not
clash with his own kind of writing. It was so thoroughly woman like
that one could not compare it to a man's. Moreover, that success had
contributed largely to the profits by which he had benefited, and to his
renown as editor of the journal which accorded place to this new-found
genius. But there was a deeper and more potent cause for sympathy with
the success of his fair young contributor. He had imperceptibly glided
into love with her,--a love very different from that with which poor
Julie Caumartin flattered herself she had inspired the young poet.
Isaura was one of those women for whom, even in natures the least
chivalric, love, however ardent, cannot fail to be accompanied with a
certain reverence,--the reverence with which the ancient knighthood, in
its love for women, honoured the ideal purity of womanhood itself. Till
then Rameau had never revered any one.

On her side, brought so frequently into communication with the young
conductor of the journal in which she wrote, Isaura entertained for him
a friendly, almost sister-like affection.

I do not think that, even if she had never known the Englishman, she
would have really become in love with Rameau, despite the picturesque
beauty of his countenance and the congeniality of literary pursuits; but
perhaps she might have fancied herself in love with him. And till one,
whether man or woman, has known real love, fancy is readily mistaken for
it. But little as she had seen of Graham, and that little not in itself
wholly favourable to him, she knew in her heart of hearts that his image
would never be replaced by one equally dear. Perhaps in those qualities
that placed him in opposition to her she felt his attractions. The
poetical in woman exaggerates the