anied by the pupils of the
Polytechnic School and the Military School of St. Cyr, then descended
the boulevards, followed by the whole of the military and civic array,
who chanted the national songs. The effect was stupendous. Hour after
hour the immense procession moved on like a huge serpent through the
streets of Paris; and, at length, when its head was at the Hotel de
Ville, its extremity had hardly left the Column of July.

It was night, on Sunday, the 27th of February, when the members of the
Provisional Government, for the first time during four days, returned to
their homes. But their work was accomplished. A Republic was gained,
proclaimed and inaugurated!

CHAPTER XXVI.

DANTES AND MERCEDES.

It was a tempestuous night. The wind howled dismally through the streets
of Paris, and the rain and sleet dashed fiercely against the casements.
At intervals a wild shout might be caught as the blast paused in its
furious career, and then a distant shot might be heard. But they passed
away, and nothing save the wail of the storm-wind or the rushing sleet
of the winter tempest was distinguished.

But, while all was thus wild, dark and tempestuous without, light,
warmth, comfort and elegance, rendered yet more delightful by the
elemental war, reigned triumphant within a large and splendidly
furnished apartment in the noble mansion of M. Dantes, the Deputy from
Marseilles, in the Rue du Helder. Every embellishment which art could
invent, luxury court, wealth invoke, or even imagination conceive,
seemed there lavished with a most prodigal hand. The soft atmosphere of
summer, perfumed by the exotics of a neighboring conservatory, delighted
the senses, the mild effulgence of gaslight transmitted through opaque
globes of glass melted upon the sight, while sofas, divans and ottomans
in luxurious profusion invited repose. To describe the rare paintings,
the rich gems of statuary and the other miracles of art which were there
to be seen would be as impossible as it would be to portray the
exquisite taste which enhanced the value of each and constituted more
than half its charm.

Upon one of the elegant sofas reclined Edmond Dantes, his tall and
graceful figure draped in a dressing robe, while beside him on a low
ottoman sat his beautiful wife, her arm resting on his knee, and her
dark, glorious eyes gazing with confiding fondness into his face.

Mercedes was no longer the young, light-hearted and thoughtless being