r spoke, he spread wide his arms; when his eyes opened, and
his long slumbering senses returned, Mercedes, his own Mercedes, was,
indeed, clasped to his breast.

"Mercedes! Mercedes?" he faintly whispered. "Ah! it was no dream, for
you are, indeed, beside me and mine--mine forever!"

"Thine--thine--forever!" was the reply, and she clasped his feeble form
to her heart as she would have clasped that of a child.

CHAPTER XVI.

A NOTABLE FETE.

On the night of Monday, February 21st, 1848, all Paris was at the house
of M. Gaultier de Rumilly, in the Avenue des Champs Elysees. M. Gaultier
de Rumilly was well known as one of the leaders of the extreme left,
though the confidential friend of M. Odillon Barrot, and the fete was
perfectly understood to be a political reunion, rather than a social
one. All the accompaniments of the most splendid society events of the
season were in requisition. Even the brilliant balls given by the
opulent citizens of New York were eclipsed in luxury and splendor. There
was the streaming of lamps and chandeliers, the swell of enchanting
music, the whirl of the fascinating polka, redowa or mazurka, while
throngs of richly attired and lovely women were constantly enhancing the
magnificence of the scene by their arrival. The brilliancy of the
occasion was also richly diversified by the presence of an unusually
large number of officers of the Municipal and National Guards in full
uniform, as well as of several belonging to the Line or the regiments of
Algeria.

It was about ten o'clock. Within, all was light, life and loveliness;
without, the winter wind moaned drearily through the leafless trees of
the Boulevard, and the drifting sleet swept along the deserted streets.
It was a wild night. Throughout all Paris seemed going forth a
portentous murmur, like that mysterious moaning of the ocean, which,
with mariners, is the prelude of a storm. An ominous whispering, as of
many voices, seemed to sink and swell on the sweeping night blast; then
all was still. Again, in the distance, would rise a sharp shout, or the
stern, brief word of military command. At intervals, also, one might
imagine he heard a deep rumbling, as of heavy ordnance and its tumbrels
over the pavements, accompanied by the measured tread of armed men and
the clattering hoofs of cavalry horses. Then these sounds died away, and
along the narrow streets of Paris again the night wind only swept, the
bitter blast howled and the