had
so often said that it was invincible, that every one among the
public expected a series of crushing victories.

Alas! the first telegram announced a defeat. People refused to
believe it at first. But there was the evidence. The soldiers had
died bravely; but the chiefs had been incapable of leading them.

From that time, and with a vertiginous rapidity, from day to day,
from hour to hour, the fatal news came crowding on. Like a river
that overflows its banks, Prussia was overrunning France. Bazaine
was surrounded at Metz; and the capitulation of Sedan capped the
climax of so many disasters.

At last, on the 4th of September, the republic was proclaimed.

On the 5th, when the Signor Gismondo Pulei presented himself at Rue
St. Gilles, his face bore such an expression of anguish, that Mlle.
Gilberte could not help asking what was the matter.

He rose on that question, and, threatening heaven with his clinched
fist,

"Implacable fate does not tire to persecute me," he replied. "I
had overcome all obstacles: I was happy: I was looking forward to
a future of fortune and glory. No, the dreadful war must break out."

For the worthy maestro, this terrible catastrophe was but a new
caprice of his own destiny.

"What has happened to you?" inquired the young girl, repressing a
smile.

"It happens to me, signora, that I am about to lose my beloved
pupil. He leaves me; he forsakes me. In vain have I thrown myself
at his feet. My tears have not been able to detain him. He is going
to fight; he leaves; he is a soldier!"

Then it was given to Mlle. Gilberte to see clearly within her soul.
Then she understood how absolutely she had given herself up, and to
what extent she had ceased to belong to herself.

Her sensation was terrible, such as if her whole blood had suddenly
escaped through her open arteries. She turned pale, her teeth
chattered; and she seemed so near fainting, that the Signor Gismondo
sprang to the door, crying, "Help, help! she is dying."

Mme. Favoral, frightened, came running in. But already, thanks to
an all-powerful projection of will, Mlle. Gilberte had recovered,
and, smiling a pale smile,

"It's nothing, mamma," she said. "A sudden pain in the head; but
it's gone already."

The worthy maestro was in perfect agony. Taking Mme. Favoral aside,

"It is my fault," he said. "It is the story of my unheard-of
misfortunes that has upset her thus. Monstrous egotist that I am!
I sho