'Dead-dead!' every one murmurs hoarsely, 'no need of doctors.' A horrid fear creeps into Romeo's heart as he looks and looks. Fair locks and a grey dress-is not that the description Ernest gave him of the Unknown? In the twinkling of an eye, improbabilities become realities for the excited young painter. Miss Torrington-Ernest himself had done the girl to death. On-on he ran, and rushed like a whirlwind up to the porteress of Julie's dwelling. Mademoiselle Belokuroff?' he gasped.

'Au lit.'

'God be thanked! I shall return to-morrow morning,' he said in a resolved manner.

'Bien-bien-bien,' replies the porteress, her back up' at once. 'I do not say no.'

CHAPTER IV.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

ROMEO dreamed through the night

dreamed with his eyes open more wildly than with them shut. He made up his mind as to the course he would pursue next day: he resolved no longer to waste his best feelings on a phantom: he would see and judge, and work out his fate. But what seems very easy and dashing at night with a fevered pulse, looks often very hazardous and foolish by broad common-sense daylight. Romeo did not allow this to himself, but attributed his hesitation to the necessity of waiting for his new-found patron. He made, however, a peculiarly careful toilet, and when at midday three gentlemen entered his atelier, they found the young painter dressed as if for a marriage. The handsome Englishman introduced his friends-one a famous critical writer on Art, a little old man with but one eye, but that, like Tibbie Fowler's, was a piercer, and Romeo felt it go through him as if it had been an awl, when it rested on his gay waistcoat. The other gentleman was one since well known for his mural paintings. The grey-haired critic took his eye from the young artist to look at the picture on the easel, and said, 'Ah!

monsieur has not considered originality as a primary merit.' Was this praise or censure? Romeo kept silence. Nevertheless,' went on the critic, the composition is good in the philosophic sense of the word, and so is the clair-obscure, and there is transparency and a firm touch. Young gentleman, I perceive you have pursued a conscientious study of your art, and I honour you for it.'

Poor Romeo! this last unmerited praise crushed him by its jewelled weight.

'Have you ever tried your hand at fresco?' here asked the great painter.

'When I was a boy-yes.'

'Many years ago?' questioned the gentleman with a smile.

'Some seven or eight years ago,' answered the unconscious Romeo, with gravity.

The Englishman now begged his friend to look at The Mother and Child.'

Tiens-that is better!' emphatically pronounced the critic. Naïve

but excellent. You wish me to fix its value? Young man, send it to the salon, and let the public, the only really impartial judge, do that for you. If you only want me to name its marketable price, I sayand he named what seemed an extravagant sum to Romeo. You have imagination and heart enough,' continued the feuilletonist, 'to be a worthy artist, but don't live aloneI don't live alone-bad for real art. Seek that companionship in a wife, without which man's heart hardens. Work for her, and keep your affections, in which your power lies, healthy by proper exercise.'

"Wonderful man!' thought Romeo. 'Come and see me, and I'll mention you in my first article on this year's paintings.'

'Here is my card, sir,' said the fresco painter. 'I hope we shall see more of one another. I am on the look-out for co-labourers-à l'avantage, Mons. Graziosi.'

The Frenchmen bow and retreat; the Englishman gives the Italian's hand a dislocating shake and whispers, Put "sold" on the Pifferaro. Miss Torrington must not have

both, and in future let us be good neighbours. You pass my door daily—come and make the acquaintance of my mother and grandmother.'

They are gone, and Romeo feels himself as happy as a prince, happier probably. He longs for sympathy. Where's the piano? What! silent again, and in the moment of his triumph? Perhaps this sudden draught of the elixir of success has intoxicated him, for he catches up his hat, glances in the looking-glass, and is away.

'Mademoiselle Belokuroff, if you

please.'

'At the sixth above the entresol,' screams the porteress after him-as if Romeo did not know that.

Julie Evanovna Belokuroff had been out early that morning to take her music lesson of M. Chopin. He taught her for very little: he knew the courageous girl was trying to ransom herself, and he had allowed her to fix the remuneration she could afford to pay, as she refused his gratuitous instruction, and Chopin and some of his English friends found beginners for her to teach. The great master considered Julie as one of his most promising pupils, and he was, besides, touched by the sort of savage enthusiasm she felt for himself. He came to look on her quite as a daughter, even as a friend. He found Julie a very honest friend. With her, wrongdoing was wrong-doing, let the culprit be whom he would; but then after her severest tirades, she would cry her eyes out for his sufferings of body and mind.

This particular morning it had been the master's turn to reproachyes, reproach her, who, of all maidens, had the best right to be proud of herself. Yes, she had to listen to denunciations of her follyto listen to his sermonizing against receiving gentlemen visitors, let them be as old as Methusaleh, or young as Cherubino. It is an error to say she listened to M. Chopin, for at the first word of accusation she started up with a fierce monosyllabic denial, and a fierce demand for name of the scandalmonger. Mons. Chopin went on without

the

heeding the denial or the question, and Julie, in a storm of tears, went

on

reiterating Miss Torrington's name. For who but Miss Torrington-whose wicked jealousy had driven her from the home she had forced on her with fleeting enthusiasm a few months before- who but Miss Torrington would malign her, punishing her for having pleased her too well at first?

SO

Receiving no contradiction of her suspicions, Julie rushed from M. Chopin's presence, and ran home with all sorts of violent projects fermenting in her head. She would have justice-she must, or she should break her heart. She would go to the police-the juge de paix--the English ambassador - -no-not to Lady G. N. because of her excellent handsome grandson's name having been mixed up in the scandal.

Without heeding a speech made to her by the porteress, Julie hurried up to her garret and nearly fell down at the sight of a costly bouquet of white lilacs, a letter with a red seal as big as a five-franc piece, and a visiting card with a name in microscopic letters, all waiting for her spread out on her table. She clasped her hands and looked round the room with something of dread in her glance; but there were no recesses large enough to hide anything bigger than a mouse.

"Oh, that wicked wretch!' burst out the daughter of John Belokuroff. She tore open the letter without the least respect for the coronet on the seal; it was an anonymous declaration. She caught up the cardErnest de Pelissier. What's that? c'est un sort-witchcraft. I must go away! I must go away!'

Large drops fell out of Julie's large eyes down on the red-tiled floor. Not like common tears, reddening the eyelids and discolouring the face, they resembled nothing so much as heat-drops, which fall when not a cloud veils the sky.

To Julie, going away meant renouncing her dearest hopes; renouncing freedom to pursue an honourable career of industry in a land where there were no serfs. meant poverty and innocence yielding to the insolence of rank, riches,

It

and evil passions; it meant living and dying with the serf's collar round her throat. Julie's spirit was up in rebellion. I could bear disappointment,' she muttered to herself, if it came because I had not talent enough to succeed; but to be destroyed by a silly, jealous woman, so old as she is, too!' The old was not true, Julie.

'Lovers, indeed! I wish I had one to defend me-to make these gossiping fools leave me in peace,' eyeing the bouquet, the card, and the letter with grand contempt. A lover! where's a poor girl like me to unearth an honest man to be her lover and take care of her? If I could find one, wouldn't I love him, and be careful of his honourable name, which should be a protection to me!'

All this time Julie was pacing up and down her little room, angry, tortured, sick and giddy, forgetting even that she had not yet had her breakfast.

Meanwhile, Romeo was striving to gather courage to pull the string of her door-bell.

On a sudden the door was violently thrown open, and the young lady sprang out so precipitately that she nearly knocked Romeo over. She recovered her balance with a little cry of alarm, and then said, in her sharpest tone, What are you doing here, sir? On what errand of mischief are you bent? No doubt you are a spy of that horrid English old maid. Don't put on a face as if you didn't understand me.'

'Oh, never, never, Mademoiselle,' protested Romeo, pale with mortification. Pray, madam, do not judge

from appearances.'

'Appearances, sir! When I discover you at my door-peeping in, perhaps, at my keyhole-I am not to judge from appearances that you are no man of honour. I wish you to understand that I am too wild a bird for your Parisian chaff.'

'I am not a Parisian-not a Frenchman at all; I am a Roman,' faltered Romeo, crestfallen under the beauty's avalanche of angry words and angrier glances.

'I wish you joy of that, at all events; but, French or Roman, let me tell you that I do not want your

nosegay-I hate it; and your letter -I laugh at it. Is that your card? So much for it.' And she tore it in halves, and flung it first, and then the flowers, on the floor, trampling on them with her pretty little feet. 'Now go away.'

'Brava! brava!' cried Romeo, enraptured. God bless you for doing SO. I knew you were an angel. Oh, what a load you have taken off my heart!'

Are you in your right senses, sir? You do not speak as if you were.'

'Never mind; if you only knew what I have suffered on your account.'

'On my account, sir? Why, I never remember to have set eyes on you before.'

And perhaps you never did; for this is the first time I ever beheld your face, except in dreams. But I have listened to you, heard you. Yes, your music came to the lonely exile, and the poor enthusiastic Italian has for many a month made of you his beau-ideal. You have been my good angel; to you I owe my success; you inspired me; a cloud-a Miss Torrington-hid you from me, but now that I see you, the cloud has passed, and my ideal is a reality.'

Eh, eh! how fast you go, sir,' said Julie, unable to help a smile. 'You really know nothing of me.'

'I see what you are in your smile, in your frown, in your paleness. I see it in your poverty; all in you and around you is a prophecy of good. You will fill a man's home with happiness.'

'Oh, dear!' said Julie, with a beginning of embarrassment, you are surely a very odd man.'

'Not at all; but I despise conventionalities. I know you are friendless-so am I; you work for your bread-so do I. Let us associate our honest purpose, and no longer tread the world alone. Will you be my wife?'

Nothing like shy, reserved people for going the most terrible lengths when once roused from their timidity. Romeo's soul had passed into his eyes; his face was really magnificent with the expression given

to it by an irresistible and noble sentiment. Julie's Russian heart was stirred for the first time in her life: she was penetrated by his deep feeling. Her clear, blue eyes were veiled as they had never been before; her merry defiant voice was almost low and husky, belying her effort to make it sportive, as she said, 'I am half tempted to take you at your word, were it only for the originality of the proceeding. A match concluded on the threshold of the door would be like the end of a farce.'

'You are cruel, madam. I see I am ridiculous in your eyes.'

'God help me! who am I that I should make a jest of generous words?' said Julie, seriously. 'But, sir, I do not even know your name.' 'I am Romeo Graziosi.'

What! the genius! the great artist?' exclaimed Julie, brightening up. 'Oh, sir, you are very good to interest yourself in me; my best friends-they live in the same house with you-spoke to me of you, only last evening.'

Instead of also brightening up at this, Romeo clouded over. Ah! you mean a handsome young Englishman?'

'I mean the mother and grandmother of the handsome Englishman. I adore them all.'

'What! all of them?'

'Yes, all of them. Why, sir, I should have drowned myself in the Seine but for them; would you have me ungrateful?'

'No-but

belong as a chair or a table in her drawing-room does, to the Princess S--'

But I-I have money,' stammered Romeo.

'Do you mean you would like to buy me?' asked Julie, hovering between a laugh and a cry.

'Yes-yes-buy you.

Enshrine

you in my heart and home, as my guardian angel and wife.'

Julie turned very red, then very pale, and finally swooned away at Romeo's feet; just the most imprudent thing she could have done-the landing so narrow and Romeo so inexperienced in the management of fainting fits.

But aid was tripping jauntily up the stairs. Ernest, comet-like, arrives at the inconvenient spot where Romeo was standing over Julie's prostrate body.

Romeo!' exclaims Ernest, and 'Ernest!' answers Romeo, and a silence of a second ensues.

Ah ça, my dear,' begins Ernest, 'thou hast then forgotten our yesterday's agreement.'

'Hein!' ejaculates Romeo.

'We must discuss this treachery, sir,' continues the little Frenchman, balancing himself on the top step, 'but not here, sir-not in the presence of a lady. I shall send you a friend.'

6

Are you jesting, Ernest?' returns Romeo, also using the ceremonious second person of the plural.

'Sir,' replied Ernest, solemnly, 'to-morrow we will untie that hypocritical question with swords. At present, we had better pick up this prostrate Helen.'

Touch her at your peril,' shouts Romeo, and so loudly that doors begin to open below, and suddenly up runs Miss Torrington.

'No fighting, gentlemen, or I'll call in the police,' meaning the gendarmes.

Minerva repressing the fury of Achilles,' says Ernest, gallantly, to the tall English lady.

Miss Torrington laughed, and said,

till my body is free.'

'Mademoiselle!'

Do you not understand the meaning of the word bondswoman. I

VOL. I.-NO. I.

help the heroine. Monsieur Graziosi, you are the strongest, assist me to carry Mademoiselle Julie into her room.'

D

When Julie was laid on the hard sofa- her bed by night-Romeo, leaving Miss Torrington to bathe the still half insensible girl's forehead, turned to Ernest, and taking hold of the little man's arm, he somewhat roughly led him round the room, pointing to the uncarpeted floor, the small, uncomfortable chair, the thinly curtained window, the absence of any fireplace, and then exclaimed, 'Quite the habitation for a wandering princess, eh? Quite the salon for receptions, eh?'

'I took you for a man of sense, Mr. Romeo,' said Miss Torrington. Upon my word I now begin to have some idea that you are mad. This Julie is opening her blue eyes; suppose you go and fetch her a cup of soup or coffee from the shop next door.'

Romeo looked at Julie, and his heart gave a great throb as the blue eyes alluded to, losing the blank look with which they had evidenced a return to consciousness, glanced eagerly towards him. He obeyed the

mute call.

'Go away, go away, all of you, directly,' she whispered.

'No, you are my betrothed, and I will defend you with my life,' said Romeo, with a fierce look at Ernest.

'Ah! who will help me-who will save me?' moaned Julie.

'What's the matter,' said a clear voice from the doorway. Every one looked round, and there stood a tiny figure, its face hid in a great Leghorn bonnet from which hung a long blue veil.

'I save myself. I,'-exclaimed Ernest skipping out of the room, while Julie, who had been lying helpless on the sofa, suddenly sprang up, and in an instant had the new comer enclosed within her young powerful arms.

'Gently, gently, my poor child— leave me some breath,' and Lady G. N., for she it was who took refuge on the nearest chair, while Julie, who had exhausted all her strength in this last effort, sat down at the old lady's feet, resting her head on her knees.

'What is the matter, if you please?' asked Lady G. N., taking off her

bonnet and showing a very pretty, little, old face.

Miss Torrington shrugged her shoulders slightly, laughed, then said, as if in deprecation of some accusation: Indeed, Lady G., my visit here was one of angelic charity. I am quite disinterested, I assure you. Good day. Adieu, ma petite,' to Julie.

How capitally Miss Torrington managed to mark the difference of rank between herself and Julie. Romeo and Ernest had looked and spoken ferociously to one another, but the viperish insolence of the woman went inconceivably far beyond the men's wild-beast instinct.

'I am Lady G. N., sir,' said the old lady to Romeo. Now, sir, who are you, and what brought you here? This young lady is my adopted daughter,' laying her hand on Julie's fair head. Heaven alone knew the number of such daughters which this good Samaritan had.

'Madame, I am here because I came to propose honourable marriage to Mademoiselle Julie.'

In the extremity of her astonishment Lady G. exclaimed, 'Plait-il ?' a more civil way of asking enlightenment than the English ‘what?'

'Madame, I am Romeo Graziosi, a painter by profession, an exile from Italy. I live over the way.'

6

My grandson's rara avis,' said the old lady to herself in English; then aloud, in French of course, 'I begin to understand. Julie, my child, how came you never to speak to us of this gentleman ?'

'I never spoke to him before today,' replied Julie, her face upturned to that of her benefactress, a slight flush for a moment chasing away her pallor. Nothing but what was truth and candour on that noble face.

'Well, monsieur?' said her ladyship, interrogatively to Romeo.

Mademoiselle Julie,' cried Romeo, kneeling down by Julie, so as to bring his eyes on a level with hers. Mademoiselle Julie, hear me.' His voice was agitated, but there was manliness and dignity in his demeanour. You know what I have told you already of the blessed influence of your music; you know