g river, the long gleaming front of the Louvre, the quaint,
glistening gables of the Tuilleries, the far-reaching trees of the
Champs Elysees all silvered in the soft, uncertain moonlight. It was a
most calm and beautiful picture; and I stood for a long time leaning
against the parapet of the bridge, and looking dreamily at the scene
before me. Then I heard the quarters chime from belfry to belfry all
over the quiet city, and found that it was half-past three o'clock.
Presently a patrol of _gendarmes_ went by, and, finding that they paused
and looked at me suspiciously, I turned away, and bent my steps
homewards.

By the time I reached the Cite Bergere it was past four, and the early
market-carts were already rumbling along the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre.
Going up wearily to my apartments, I found a note waiting for me in
Dalrymple's handwriting. It ran thus:--

"MY DEAR DAMON:--

"Do you know that it is nearly a month since I last saw you? Do you know
that I have called twice at your lodgings without finding you at home? I
hear of you as having been constantly seen, of late, in the society of a
very pretty woman of our acquaintance; but I confess that I do not
desire to see you go to the devil entirely without the friendly
assistance of

"Yours faithfully,

"OSCAR DALRYMPLE."

I read the note twice. I could scarcely believe that I had so neglected
my only friend. Had I been mad? Or a fool?--or both? Too anxious and
unhappy to sleep, and too tired to sit up, I lit my lamp, threw myself
upon the bed, and there lay repenting my wasted hours, my misplaced love
and my egregious folly, till morning came with its sunshine and its
traffic, and found me a "wiser," if not a "better man."

"Half-past seven!" exclaimed I to myself, as I jumped up and plunged my
head into a basin of cold water. "Dr. Cheron shall see me before nine
this morning. I'll call on Dalrymple at luncheon time; at three, I must
get back for the afternoon lecture; and in the evening--in the evening,
by Jove! Madame de Marignan must be content with her adorable Delaroche,
for the deuce a bit of her humble servant will she ever see again!"

And away I went presently along the sunny streets, humming to myself
those saucy and wholesome lines of good Sir Walter Raleigh's:--

"Shall I like a hermit dwell
On a rock, or in a cell,
Calling home the smallest part
That is missing of my heart,
To bestow it where I may
Meet a ri