The three ladies uttered an exclamation of pleasure. Fairclose had become hateful to them all, and at this moment it mattered little to them how it had come about that they were going to leave it.

"You don't mean to go back to the High Street, father?" Julia, the elder of the girls, asked anxiously.

"No, my dear; it will be a question to be settled between us where we will go, but I have decided to leave Abchester altogether. I feel that I require rest and quiet and shall give up business and go right out of it."

The girls both clapped their hands.

"And now for my second piece of news which will surprise you as much as the first. Your sister Mary is going to marry Mr. Hartington. The matter was settled in Paris, where they have both been shut up during the siege."

"That is, indeed, good news," Mrs. Brander said cordially, foreseeing at once the advantage of such a marriage.

The girls took their cue from her, and professed great pleasure at the news which, however, was not altogether welcome to them.

Mary, whom they had never liked, was to be mistress of Fairclose, and was to gain all the advantages that they had expected but had never obtained. The thought was not pleasant, but it was speedily forgotten in the excitement of the other news. Her mother, however, seeing the pleasure that her husband unmistakably felt at the thought of the marriage, was genuinely pleased. Not only might the connection be useful to the girls, but it might be invaluable in covering their retirement from Fairclose. There might be something more about that than her husband had said. At any rate this would silence all tongues and put an end to the vague anxiety that she had long felt. She had always liked Cuthbert, and had long ago cherished a faint hope that he might some day take to Mary.

"This all comes very suddenly upon us, Mr. Hartington. I suppose I ought to call you Cuthbert again, now."

"It would certainly sound more like old times, Mrs. Brander."

"Only think, my dear," the lawyer put in, "he proposed to Mary more than two years ago and she refused him. I suppose she never told you?"

"She never said a word on the subject," Mrs. Brander said, almost indignantly. "Why, it must have been before——" and she stopped.

"Before my short reign here as master, Mrs. Brander. Yes, I was down at Newquay sketching, when she was staying with her friend, Miss Treadwyn, and Mary was at the time too much occupied with the idea of raising womankind in the scale of humanity to think of taking up with a useless member of society like myself."

Mrs. Brander shook her head very gravely.

"It was a sad trouble to her father and myself," she said; "I hope she has got over those ideas."

"I think she has discovered that the world is too large for her to move," Cuthbert replied, with a smile. "At any rate she has undertaken the task of looking after me instead of reforming the world; it may be as difficult, perhaps, but it sounds less arduous."

At lunch the girls were engaged in an animated discussion as to where they would like to move to, but Mrs. Brander put an end to it by saying—

"We shall have plenty of time to talk that over, girls—it must depend upon many things. Your father's health will, of course, be the first consideration. At any rate, I shall set my face against London. So you can put that altogether out of your minds. An income that would be sufficient to establish one in a good position near a country or seaside town would be nothing in London. And now, Cuthbert, we want to hear a great deal more about our dear Mary. She writes so seldom, and of course she has been cut off for so long a time from us that we scarcely know what she is doing. In Germany she did not seem to be doing anything particular, but as she said in her letters, was studying the people and their language."

"That is what she was doing in Paris—at least that is what she came to do, but the siege put a stop to her studies, and she devoted herself to the much more practical work of nursing the wounded."

"Dear me, what an extraordinary girl she is," Mrs. Brander said, much shocked. "Surely there were plenty of women in Paris to nurse the wounded without her mixing herself up in such unpleasant work, of which she could know absolutely nothing."

"She was a very good nurse, nevertheless," Cuthbert said, quietly. "She worked in the American ambulance, under an American doctor, the other nurses and assistants being all American or English."

"How do you know she was a good nurse, Mr. Hartington?" Clara asked.

"Simply because I was one of her patients, Miss Brander. I joined one of the corps of Franc-tireurs, in which most of my student-friends enrolled themselves, and had the bad luck to get shot through the body in the sortie at Champigny, and as your sister was one of the nurses in the tent where I lay, I think that I am a pretty fair judge as to her powers of nursing. She was often there during the heaviest time for twenty-four hours at a stretch, and completely knocked herself up by he continued labors. At any rate I consider I owe my life in no small degree to her care."

"I don't think we ever understood Mary," Mr. Brander said, in a more peremptory tone than the girls had heard him use since his seizure. "There is no doubt that it was as much our fault as it was hers. I feel proud to hear that she has done such noble work. Mr. Hartington tells me," he said, abruptly changing the conversation, "that he has been working hard with the intention of making art his profession as it has long been his amusement. He seems to think that although he will, of course, be no longer obliged to look upon it as a necessary career, he intends at any rate to pursue it for a time."

"That will be very interesting," Mrs. Brander said, "and it is quite the fashion in our days."

"It is very nice when you haven't to live by it," Cuthbert said. "When you are obliged to do that, and instead of painting what you like, have to paint things that will sell, it is up-hill work, and none but men of real talent can push their way up out of the crowd. I shall be more happily situated, and shall therefore be able to devote an amount of care and time to a picture that would be impossible to a man who had his daily bread and cheese to earn by his brush. And now, Mr. Brander, we will have a few more words together and then I must be off. I shall most likely return to town this evening."

"It must be for you to decide, Mr. Brander," he went on, when they were alone in the study, "how this news shall be broken to the public. I am quite ready to be guided entirely by your wishes in the matter."

"The sooner the better. I would suggest that you should see Dr. Edwardes before you go up to town. If you will tell him what I told them in the next room, that it has been discovered that there is a flaw in the sale of Fairclose, and that as you are engaged to marry Mary, we have arrived at an amicable agreement under which you will return at once to Fairclose, while I intend to seek an entirely new scene and to retire altogether from business, there will be very little more needful. The news will spread like wildfire over the town and county. After that I shall have very few questions asked me. None that I shall not be able to answer without difficulty. The state of my health will form an excuse for my cutting my farewells short. There will, no doubt, be some gossip and wonder as to how it has come about, but the county will be so pleased at your coming back again to your father's place, that they will not be very curious as to how it occurred. I shall go off as quickly and as quietly as I can, after calling to say good-bye to those with whom I have been so long associated in the municipal business.

"It matters not where we go. I can take a furnished house at some seaside watering-place. The doctor will advise which is most likely to suit me, and we can then look round and settle on our future plans at our leisure. If I gain strength I think it likely enough we may travel on the Continent for a time. The girls have never been abroad and the prospect would go a long way towards reconciling them entirely to the change."

"I think that a very good plan," Cuthbert said. "I was intending to call upon the doctor on my way down and he will at once set the ball rolling."

Mr. Brander went to the door where the fly had been waiting for two hours.

"God bless you!" he said. "I cannot tell you how deeply grateful I am to you for your forbearance and generosity."

"Don't worry any more about it, Mr. Brander," Cuthbert said, as he shook his hand, "it has been a temporary change, and good rather than bad has come of it. Believe me, I shall put the matter out of my mind altogether."

"Back again, Cuthbert," the doctor said, when he was shown into the consulting-room. "I was down just now at the station to see a man off, and the station-master said you had arrived by the 11.30 train, and that he had seen you drive off in a fly. I could hardly believe it, but as you are here in person I suppose that there can be no mistake about it. Of course you have been up to Brander's again?"

"I have, Doctor, and for the last time. That is, the next time I shall go up it will be to take possession of Fairclose."

"My dear lad, I am delighted," the doctor said, shaking him heartily by the hand, "how has this miracle come about?"

"I cannot give you all the details, Doctor. I will simply give you the facts, which, by the way, I shall be glad if you will retail to your patients for public consumption," and he then repeated the statement that he had arranged with Mr. Brander that he should make.

"And that is the tale you wish me to disseminate?" the doctor said, with a twinkle of his eye, when Cuthbert concluded.

"That is the statement, Doctor, and it has the merit of being, as far as it goes, true. What the nature of the illegality of this sale was, I am not at liberty to disclose, not even to you, but I have discovered that beyond all question it was irregular and invalid, and Brander and I have come to a perfectly amicable understanding. I may tell you that to prevent the trouble inseparable even from a friendly lawsuit he assigns the property to me as Mary's dowry, and as a sort of recognition of the fact that he acted without sufficient care in advising my father to take those shares in the bank. Thus all necessity for the reopening of bygone events will be obviated."

"A very sensible way, lad. You will understand, of course, that I know enough of Jeremiah to be quite sure that he would not relinquish a fine property if he had a leg to stand upon. However, that is no business of mine, and I have no doubt that the fact that he is going to be your father-in-law, has had no small influence in bringing about this very admirable arrangement. Of course the matter will make a good deal of talk, but these things soon die out, and the county will welcome you back too heartily to care how your return has been brought about. You can rely upon my action in the part of town-crier, and I am sure to some of my patients the flutter of excitement the news will occasion will do a great deal more good than any medicine I could give them. Of course you are going to stay here?"

"Only to dinner, Doctor. I shall run up to town again this evening."



CHAPTER XXI.

It was on the last day of March that Cuthbert Hartington reached Paris. During the six weeks that had elapsed since he had left it many events had taken place. He himself had gone away a comparatively poor man, and returned in the possession of the estates inherited from his father, unimpaired save by the mortgage given upon them by Mr. Brander. He had succeeded beyond his hopes; and having obtained unlooked-for proofs of the fraud that had been practised, had been able to obtain restitution—which was to him the most important point—and all had been done without the slightest publicity. In Paris, the danger he had foreseen had culminated in the Commune. The battalions of National Guards from Montmartre and Belleville had risen against the Provisional Government; the troops had fraternized with them and their generals had been murdered in cold blood.

The National Guards of the business quarters had for a time held aloof, but, in the absence of support from without and being enormously outnumbered, they were powerless, and the extreme party were now in absolute possession of the city. M. Thiers and the Assembly at Versailles had so far been unable to take any steps to reduce the revolted capital. Such troops as had been hastily collected could not be relied upon to act and it seemed probable that the National Guards and Paris would, in a short time, take the offensive and obtain possession of Versailles, in which case the flame of insurrection would spread at once to all the great towns of France, and the horrors of the Terror might be repeated.

The line of railway to Paris was still open, for upon the Communists preparing to cut off all communications, the Germans, still in great force near the town, pending the carrying out of the terms of the treaty of peace, threatened to enter Paris were such a step taken. A vast emigration had taken place among the middle classes, and over fifty thousand persons had left Paris. So far the Communists had abstained from excesses, and from outrage upon peaceable citizens; had it been otherwise, Cuthbert would have returned to fetch Mary away at once. Her letters to him, however, had assured him that there was no cause whatever for uneasiness about her, and that everything was going on precisely as it had done, during the siege by the Germans. He had been anxious that she should, if possible, remain for the present in Paris, for he did not wish her to return to her family, and had made up his mind that if it became absolutely necessary for her to leave Paris she should arrange to go straight down to Newquay and stay there with her friends.

As he alighted from the carriage at the Northern Railway Station he found the place occupied by National Guards. There was no semblance of discipline among them; they smoked, lounged about, scowled at the few passengers who arrived, or slept upon the benches, wrapt in their blankets. There were none of the usual hotel omnibuses outside and but one or two fiacres; hailing one of these he was driven to his lodgings. He was greeted by the concierge with surprise and pleasure.

"So monsieur has come back. We did not expect you, though Monsieur Caillard, who comes here every day, told us that you would be sure to be back again in spite of the Reds. Ah, monsieur, what horror to think that after all Paris has gone through, these monsters should have become masters of the city! It would have been a thousand times better to have had the Prussians here, they would have kept order, and those wild beasts of Montmartre would not have dared even to have murmured. You have heard how they shot down peaceful citizens in the Rue de la Paix? Have you come to stay, monsieur?"

"For a time, anyhow;" and taking the key of his rooms Cuthbert carried up his pormanteau, and then at once came down and drove to Madame Michaud's.

Mary was half expecting him, for in his last letter to her he had told her he hoped to arrive in Paris that evening.

"I have been horribly anxious about you, Mary," he said, after the first greeting.

"There was no occasion for your being so," she replied, "everything is pefectly quiet here, though from what they say there may be fighting any day, but if there is it will be outside the walls and will not affect us here."

"I don't think there will be much fighting," he said; "if the troops fraternize with the Communists there's an end of the business, all France will join them, and we shall have the Reign of Terror over again, though they will not venture upon any excesses here in Paris, for, fortunately, the Germans are still within gunshot, and they would have the hearty approval of all Europe in marching in here, and stamping the whole thing out. If the troops, on the other hand, prove faithful, I feel sure, from what I saw of the Belleville battalions, that there will be very little fighting outside the walls. They may defend Paris for a time, and perhaps bravely, for they will know they are fighting with ropes round their necks, and the veriest cur will fight when cornered. Your people here are not thinking of leaving, I hope?"

"No, and they could not now if they wanted; the Commune has put a stop to emigration, and though the trains still run once or twice a day, they go out as empty as they come in. Have you got through your business?" she asked, with a shade of anxiety.

"Yes, dear, and most satisfactorily; everything has been arranged in the happiest way. I unexpectedly obtained proofs that the sale of Fairclose was altogether irregular, and indeed, invalid. I have seen your father, who at once, upon my laying the proofs before him, recognized the position. Our arrangement has been a perfectly amicable one. He is going to retire altogether from business, and will probably take up his residence at some seaside place where there is a bracing climate. The doctor recommends Scarborough, for I may tell you that he has had a slight stroke of apoplexy, and is eager himself for rest and quiet. Fairclose and the estate comes back to me, nominally as your dowry, and with the exception that there is a mortgage on it for L20,000, I shall be exactly in the same position that I was on the day my father died. I may say that your mother and the girls are delighted with the arrangement, for, somehow, they have not been received as cordially as they had expected in the county—owing of course to a foolish prejudice arising from your father's connection with the bank, whose failure hit everyone heavily—and they are, in consequence, very pleased indeed at the prospect of moving away altogether."

Mary's forehead was puckered up in little wrinkles of perplexity as she listened. "I am glad of course, very glad, that you have got Fairclose back," she said, "though it all seems very strange to me—is that all that I am to know, Cuthbert?"

"That is all it is necessary that you should know, Mary, and no one else will know any more. Your father's illness and the doctor's injunctions that he should retire from business altogether and settle in some place with a mild climate, is an ample reason for his leaving Fairclose, and your engagement to me, and my past connection with the place are equally valid reasons why I should be his successor there. I do not say, Mary, that there may not have been other causes which have operated to bring about this result, but into these there is no need, whatever, for us to enter. Be contented, dear, to know that all has turned out in the best possible way, that I have recovered Fairclose, that your family are all very pleased at the prospect of leaving it, and in that fact the matter ends happily for everyone."

"I lunched at the old place only yesterday," he went on lightly, "and the girls were in full discussion as to where they should go. Your father is picking up his strength fast, and with rest and quiet, will, I hope, soon be himself again. I expect, between ourselves, that he will be all the better for getting away from that work in the town, with its lunches and dinners. The Doctor told me that he had warned him that he was too fond of good living, specially as he took no exercise. Now that he will be free from the office, and from all that corporation business, he will no doubt walk a good deal more than he has done for many years and live more simply, and as the doctor told me yesterday, the chances are that he will have no recurrence of his attack. I may tell you that from a conversation I had with him I learned that your father will still draw a very comfortable income from the business, and will have amply sufficient to live in very good style at Scarborough."

The fact that Cuthbert had lunched at Fairclose did more to soothe Mary's anxiety than anything else he had said. It seemed a proof that however this strange change had come about, an amicable feeling existed between Cuthbert and her father, and when he wound up with "Are you contented, dear?" she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"More than contented, Cuthbert. I have been worrying myself greatly while you have been away, and I never thought that it would end as happily as this. I know, dear, that you have concealed a great deal from me, but I am contented to know no more than that. I am as sure as if you had told me that you have brought all these things about in this friendly way for my sake. And now," she said after a pause, "what are your plans for yourself?"

"You mean for us, Mary. Well, dear, my plan is that we shall wait on here and see how things turn out. I don't want to go back to England till all these arrangements are carried out. I don't intend to have to go to Scarborough to marry you, and I think it will be vastly better for us to be married quietly here as soon as the chaplain at the embassy returns, which, of course, he will do directly these troubles are over. My present idea is, that I shall let the house at Fairclose, or shut it up if I cannot let it, and let the rents of the property go to paying off this mortgage, and I intend to take a modest little place near London, to live on our joint income, and to work hard until Fairclose is clear of this incumbrance."

"That is right, Cuthbert. I have been wondering ever since you told me you were to have Fairclose again, if you would give up painting, and hoping that you would still go on with it. I should so like you to win a name for yourself as a great painter."

Cuthbert laughed. "My dear child, you are jumping a great deal too fast at conclusions. I am not yet out from school. I have painted my two first pictures, which you like, principally because your face is in one of them, but that is a short step towards becoming a great artist. You are like a young lady in love with a curate, and therefore convinced that some day he will be Archbishop of Canterbury, and with almost equally good foundation; however, I shall do my best, and as I shall still have a strong motive for work, and shall have you to spur me on I hope I may make a modest success."

"I am sure you will, and more than that," she said, warmly; "if not," she added, with a saucy laugh, "I think you might as well give it up altogether; a modest success means mediocrity, and that is hateful, and I am sure you yourself would be no more satisfied with it than I should."

"Well, I will go on for a bit and see. I agree with you, that a thing is not worth doing unless it is done well, but I won't come to any final decision for another year or two. Now it is past ten o'clock, and I must be going."

"When will you come? To-morrow?"

"I will come at three o'clock. Have your things on by that time, and we will go for a ramble."

Rene Caillard came into Cuthbert's room at nine o'clock the next morning.

"I came round yesterday evening, Cuthbert, and heard from the concierge that you had arrived and had gone out again. As she said you had driven off in a fiacre, it was evidently of no use waiting. I thought I would come down and catch you the first thing this morning. You look well and strong again, your native air evidently suits you."

"I feel quite well again, though not quite so strong. So things have turned out just as I anticipated, and the Reds are the masters of Paris."

Rene shrugged his shoulders. "It is disgusting," he said. "It does not trouble us much, we have nothing to lose but our heads, and as these scoundrels would gain nothing by cutting them off, I suppose we shall be allowed to go our own way."

"Is the studio open again?"

"Oh, yes, and we are all hard at work, that is to say, the few that remain of us. Goude has been fidgeting for you to come back. He has asked several times whether I have news of you, and if I was sure you had not left Paris forever. I know he will be delighted when I tell him that you have returned; still more so if you take the news yourself."

"I suppose Minette has resumed her duties as model?"

"Not she," Rene said scornfully, "she is one of the priestesses of the Commune. She rides about on horseback with a red flag and sash. Sometimes she goes at the head of a battalion, sometimes she rides about with the leaders. She is in earnest but she is in earnest theatrically, and that fool, Dampierre, is as bad as she is."

"What! Has he joined the Commune?".

"Joined, do you say? Why, he is one of its leaders. He plays the part of La Fayette, in the drama, harangues the National Guards, assures them of the sympathy of America, calls upon them to defend the freedom they have won by their lives and to crush back their oppressors, as his countrymen crushed their British tyrants. Of course it is all Minette's doing; he is as mad as she is. I can assure you that he is quite a popular hero among the Reds, and they would have appointed him a general if he had chosen to accept it, but he said that he considered himself as the representative of the great Republic across the sea, that he would accept no office, but would fight as a simple volunteer. He, too, goes about on horseback, with a red scarf, and when you see Minette you may be sure that he is not far off."

"Without absolutely considering Dampierre to be a fool, I have always regarded him as being, well, not mad, but different to other people. His alternate fits of idleness and hard work, his infatuation for Minette, his irritation at the most trifling jokes, and the moody state into which he often fell, all seem to show as the Scots say, 'a bee in his bonnet,' and I can quite fancy the excitement of the times, and his infatuation for that woman may have worked him up to a point much more nearly approaching madness than before. I am very sorry, Rene, for there was a good deal to like about him, he was a gentleman and a chivalrous one. In Minette he saw not a clever model, but a peerless woman, and was carried away by enthusiasm, which is, I think, perfectly real: she is in her true element now, and is, I should say, for once not acting. Well, it is a bad business. If the Commune triumphs, as I own that it seems likely enough, it will do, he will in time become disgusted with the adventurers and ambitious scoundrels by whom he is surrounded, and will, like the Girondists, be among the first victims of the wild beasts he has helped to bring into existence. If the troops prove faithful, the Commune will be crushed, and all those who have made themselves conspicuous are likely to have but a short shrift of it when martial law is established. Well, Rene, as there is nothing that can be done in the matter, it is of no use troubling about it. None of the others have gone that way, I suppose."

"Of course not," Rene exclaimed indignantly. "You don't suppose that after the murder of the generals any decent Frenchman would join such a cause, even if he were favorable to its theories. Morbleu! Although I hate tyrants I should be tempted to take up a rifle and go out and defend them were they menaced by such scum as this. It is not even as it was before; then it was the middle class who made the Revolution, and there was at least much that was noble in their aims, but these creatures who creep out from their slums like a host of obnoxious beasts animated sorely by hatred for all around them, and by a lust for plunder and blood, they fill one with loathing and disgust. There is not among them, save Dampierre, a single man of birth and education, if only perhaps you except Rochefort. There are plenty of Marats, but certainly no Mirabeau.

"No, no, Cuthbert, we of the studio may be wild and thoughtless. We live gayly and do not trouble for the morrow, but we are not altogether fools; and even were there nothing else to unite us against the Commune, the squalor and wretchedness, the ugliness and vice, the brutal coarseness, and the foul language of these ruffians would band us together as artists against them. Now, enough of Paris, what have you been doing in England, besides recovering your health?"

"I have been recovering a fortune, too, Rene. A complicated question concerning some property that would, in the ordinary course of things, have come to me has now been decided in my favor."

"I congratulate you," Rene said, "but you will not give up art, I hope?"

"No, I intend to stick to that, Rene. You see I was not altogether dependent on it before, so that circumstances are not much changed."

"You finished your pictures before you went away, did you not? The temptation to have a peep at them has been very strong, but I have resisted—nobly it was heroic, was it not?"

"It must have been. Yes, I put the finishing touches to them before I went away, and now I will show them to you Rene; it is the least I can do after all your kindness. Now go and look out of the window until I fix the easels in a good light, I want your first impressions to be favorable. There," after a pause, "the curtain is drawn up and the show has begun." He spoke lightly, but there was an undertone of anxiety in his voice. Hitherto no one but Mary had seen them, and her opinion upon the subject of art was of little value. He, himself, believed that the work was good, but yet felt that vague dissatisfaction and doubt whether it might not have been a good deal better, that most artists entertain as to their own work. In the school Rene's opinion was always sought for eagerly; there were others who painted better, but none whose feeling of art was more true or whose critical instinct keener.

Rene looked at the pictures for a minute or two in silence, then he turned to Cuthbert and took one of his hands in his own. "My dear friend," he said, "it is as I expected. I always said that you had genius, real genius, and it is true; I congratulate you, my dear friend. If it were not that I know you English object to be embraced, I should do so, but you are cold and do not like a show of feeling. These pictures will place you well in the second rank; in another year or two you will climb into the first. They will be hung on the line, that goes without saying. They are charming, they are admirable, and to think that you are still at the school. I might paint all my life and I should never turn out two such canvases; and it is a sin that one who can paint like that should expose himself to be shot at by Prussians. Now, do you sit down and let me look at them."

"Do so, Rene, and please remember that I want not praise, but honest criticism; I know they have defects, but I want you to point them out to me, for while I feel that they might be improved, I have my own ideas so strongly in my head, that I cannot see where the faults are as you can. Remember, you can't be too severe, and if possible to do so, without entirely having to repaint them, I will try to carry out your suggestions."

Rene produced a pipe, filled and lighted it, then placed a chair so that he could sit across it and lean upon the back. He sat for upwards of a quarter of an hour puffing out clouds of tobacco-smoke without speaking.

"You mean what you say, Cuthbert?" he said at last. "Very well, I will take the bright one first. As to the figure I have nothing to say; the effect of the light falling on her head and face is charming; the dress is perhaps a little stiff, it would have been bettered if relieved by some light lace or gauze, but we will let that pass; it is a portrait and a good one. It is your pretty nurse at the Ambulance. Am I to congratulate you there too?"

Cuthbert nodded.

"I thought so," Rene went on, without moving his gaze from the pictures, "and will congratulate you presently. The background of the figure is the one weak point of the picture, that, too, like the portrait, I doubt not, was taken from reality, for with your artistic feeling you would never have placed that bare wall behind the figure. You have tried by the shadows from the vine above to soften it, and you have done all you could in that way, but nothing could really avail. You want a vine to cover that wall. It should be thrown into deep cool shadow, with a touch of sunlight here and there, streaming upon it, but less than you now have falling on the wall. As it is now, the cool gray of the dress is not sufficiently thrown up, it, like the wall, is in shade except where the sun touches the head and face; but, with a dark cool green, somewhat undefined, and not too much broken up by the forms of the foliage, the figure would be thrown forward, although still remaining in the shade, and I am sure the picture would gain at once in strength and repose. Now, as to the other. It is almost painfully sombre, it wants relief. It expresses grief and hopelessness; that is good; but it also expresses despair, that is painful; one does not feel quite sure that the young woman is not about to throw herself into the sea. Now, if you were to make a gleam of watery sunshine break through a rift in the cloud, lighting up a small patch of foam and breaker, it would be a relief; if you could arrange it so that the head should stand up against it, it would add greatly to the effect. What do you think?" he asked, breaking off suddenly and turning to Cuthbert.

"You are right in both instances, Rene. Both the backgrounds are from sketches I made at the time; the veranda in the one case, and the sea and sky and rock in the other are as I saw them, and it did not occur to me to change them. Yes, you are a thousand times right. I see now why I was discontented with them, and the changes you suggest will be invaluable. Of course, in the sea-scene the light will be ill-defined, it will make its way through a thin layer of cloud, and will contrast just as strongly with the bright warm sunshine on the other picture, as does the unbroken darkness. There is nothing else that you can suggest, Rene?"

"No, and I almost wish that I had not made those suggestions, the pictures are so good that I am frightened, lest you should spoil them by a single touch of the brush."

"I have no fear of that, Rene, I am sure of the dark picture, and I hope I can manage the other, but if I fail I can but paint the wall in again. I will begin at once. I suppose you are going round to Goude's; tell him that I am back, and will come round this evening after dinner. Ask all the others to come here to supper at ten; thank goodness we shall have a decent feed this time."

Directly Rene had left, Cuthbert set to work with ardor. He felt that Rene had hit upon the weak spots that he had felt and yet failed to recognize. In four hours the sea-scape was finished, and as he stepped back into the window to look at it, he felt that the ray of misty light showing rather on the water than on the air, had effected wonders, and added immensely to the poetry of the picture.

"I have only just time to change, and get there in time," he said, with a very unlover-like tone of regret, as he hastily threw off his painting blouse, ate a piece of bread left over from breakfast, and drank a glass of wine. He glanced many times at the picture.

"Curious," he muttered, "how blind men are to their own work. I can detect a weak point in another man's work in a moment, and yet, though I felt that something was wrong, I could not see what it was in my own. If I succeed as well with the other as I have done with this I shall be satisfied indeed."

"You are a quarter of an hour late, sir," Mary said, holding up her finger in reproof as he entered. "The idea of keeping me waiting, the very first time after our engagement. I tremble when I look forward to the future."

"I have been painting, Mary, and when one is painting one forgets how time flies; but I feel greatly ashamed of myself, and am deeply contrite."

"You don't look contrite at all, Cuthbert. Not one bit."

"Well, I will not press for forgiveness now, I think when you see what I have been doing you will overlook the offence."

"What have you been doing? I thought you told me that you had quite finished the two pictures, the day you came to say good-bye before you started for Brussels."

"Rene has been criticising them and has shown me where I committed two egregious blunders."

"Then I think it was very impertinent of him," Mary said in a tone of vexation. "I am sure nothing could have been nicer than they were even when I saw them, I am certain there were no blunders in them, and I don't see how they could be improved."

"Wait until you see them again, Mary. I altered one this morning, but the other will take me three or four days steady work. I am not so sure of success there, but if you don't like it when you see it, I promise you that I will restore it to its former condition, now let us be off; if I am not mistaken there is something going on, I saw several battalions of National Guards marching through the streets; and there is a report that 50,000 men are to march against Versailles. We may as well see them start, it may turn out to be an historic event."



CHAPTER XXII.

The march against Versailles did not take place on the first of April, although the Communists had every reason to believe that they would meet with no opposition, as on the previous night two regiments of the army, forming the advanced guard between Versailles and Paris, came in, together with a battery of artillery, and declared for the Commune. The next morning Cuthbert went up at nine o'clock, as he had arranged to take Mary out early, and to work in the afternoon. Just as he reached the house he heard a cannon-shot.

"Hurry on your things," he said as he met her, "a gun has just fired; it is the first in the Civil War; perhaps the National Guard are starting against Versailles; at any rate it will be worth seeing."

The girl was ready in two or three minutes, and they walked briskly to the Arc de Triomphe. As they did so they could hear not only the boom of cannon, but the distant firing of musketry. Around the Arch a number of people were gathered, looking down the long broad avenue running from it through the Porte Maillot, and then over the Bridge of Neuilly to the column of Courbeil. Heavy firing was going on near the bridge, upon the banks of the river, and away beyond it to the right.

"That firing means that France is saved from the horrors of another red Revolution, Mary," Cuthbert said. "It shows that some of the troops at least are loyal, and in these matters example is everything. There was a report that Charrette's Zouaves and the gendarmes have been placed at the outposts, and if the report is true, it was a wise step, indeed, for McMahon to take, for both could be relied upon; and now fighting has begun, there is hope that the troops behind will stand firm."

"Why should they, Cuthbert?"

"Some of the shots from this side are sure to fall among them, and if a few are killed and wounded the rest will get angry, and all idea of fraternizing with the men who are firing on them will be at an end. I should like to see how that crowd of National Guards are behaving."

"Shall we go down and look, Cuthbert. See, there is an omnibus going down the hill, so I don't suppose there can be much danger."

"I don't think that there is any danger at present, Mary; the balls will hardly come so far, but if the troops open fire with cannon, they will send shell right up this avenue."

"Would you go by yourself if I were not here, Cuthbert?"

"Well, I certainly should, but that is no reason why I should go with you."

"I can see women looking out of the windows," she said, "so we will go down together, Cuthbert. We had the German shell falling near us while the siege was going on, and things went on just as usual."

"Come on then, dear; at any rate it will be only field-guns and not heavy siege artillery, and I dare say we can get into one of the houses and look out from them; a twelve-pounder would scarcely do much harm to one of these solid stone buildings."

They went quietly down the road. No whiz of bullet or crash of shell was heard, and without interruption they continued their course until they arrived near the gate. Near it were two battalions of the National Guard, who were in a state of utter disorder. Some of the men were quietly walking away with their rifles slung behind them, in spite of a line of sentries placed across the road and the efforts of their officers. Cuthbert questioned some of the men, as they came along, as to what had happened, but the most contradictory answers were given. They had been fired upon from Fort Valerien; they had been attacked from Courbevoie; they had been betrayed; they had been sent out without any cannon: ammunition was short; they were not going to stay to be shot down; they were going to the Hotel de Ville to turn out the traitors who had sent them out without a proper supply of ammunition. That they had some ammunition was evident from the fact that several muskets went off accidentally, the result of nervousness on the part of those that held them.

"We won't stay here to risk being shot by these cowardly fools," Cuthbert said, "let us get into one of the houses."

They went back a short distance, and Cuthbert spoke to a man standing at his door. "This lady and myself are English," he said, "would you allow us to go up and stand at one of the windows to see what is going on?"

The request was at once acceded to, and they were soon posted at a window on the fifth floor.

"Look at them," Cuthbert said in disgust, "these are the heroes who clamored to go out and destroy the Germans."

The scene below was certainly singular—the bugles and drums sounded the assembly and beat the rappel alternately, but the men paid not the slightest attention to the call, but continued to slink away until the drummers and buglers remained alone. Of the two battalions, some fifty men posted at the loop-holes of the crenelated wall by the gate remained; the rest had melted away. From the balcony at the window a fine view was obtained across the country. A heavy musket-fire was still maintained along the river-side, and there was a continuous roll of musketry at Courbevoie, where, as one of the National Guard had told them, a battalion which occupied the barracks there had been cut off by the advance of the troops. Artillery and musketry were both at work there, but elsewhere there was no artillery fire.

Close to the bridge at Neuilly the struggle was maintained for a time, and presently a column of troops were seen advancing against the bridge. As it did so the firing there ceased at once, and it was soon evident that the troops had gained the position. Numbers of National Guards soon came trooping in at the gate. A very few remained there; the rest, without waiting for orders, hurried on into Paris. A dark group now appeared on the road leading up to Courbeil; there was a white puff of smoke and a shell exploded a hundred yards on the other side of the gate. A steady fire was now kept up by two guns, the greater part of the shells exploded beyond the outer works; but several came up the avenue, two of them striking houses, and others exploding in the roadway. Each time when the whistle of a shell was heard approaching, Cuthbert drew Mary back from the balcony into the room.

"I fancy," he said, "the troops have an idea that there are masses of the Communists assembled near the gates in readiness for a sortie, and they are firing to prevent their coming out, until they have fortified the bridge and the other points they have occupied."

The firing continued for some time. At other windows the inhabitants were watching the conflict, and Cuthbert pointed out, to Mary's great amusement, the precautions that some of them were taking to ensure their personal safety. One woman had drawn down the Venetian blinds, and was looking between them, another was peering out with a pillow held over her head. The few National Guards who remained at their post were men of courage, for they showed no signs of flinching even when shells exploded within a few yards of the position they occupied. Presently there was a sound of wheels, and two four-pounder guns were brought up and placed one on each side of the gate to sweep the approaches.

Between one and two o'clock several battalions of National Guards came leisurely up, piled their arms and sat down under shelter of the wall. It was evident they had no idea of making a sortie, but had been brought up to defend the gate in case it was attacked. Soon after their arrival, a party that had remained near the river returned and it was clear that at least a portion of the troops had proved faithless, for with them were forty or fifty soldiers, who had come over during the fight. They were disarmed and then escorted into the town, where, as Cuthbert afterwards learned, they were received with enthusiasm by the mob.

"It is evident that there is no idea of any attempt being made to recapture the bridge at present, Mary; I don't know how you feel but I am getting desperately hungry, so I think we may as well be going back. I should like to see what is going on in the city. Will you come with me? I have no doubt we shall be able to get a voiture up at the arch, and we can have lunch there."

Mary was as anxious to see what is going on as he was, and in a quarter of an hour they alighted in the Rue Rivoli. As yet the population had heard but vague reports that fighting was going on, and matters were comparatively quiet, for so many rumors had pervaded the town during the last few days, that they were not generally believed. Accordingly, after lunch, Cuthbert took Mary home in a fiacre.

"I have been quite alarmed about you, my dear, where have you been?" Madame Michaud said as they entered.

"We have been seeing the fighting, madame, and the Reds have been beaten."

"I have heard all sorts of stories about it, but most of them say that the Versailles people got the worst of it."

"Then the stories were not true," Mary said, "most of the National Guard wouldn't fight at all, and the regiments all broke away and went into Paris without firing a shot, the troops have taken the bridge of Neuilly."

"The good God be thanked," Madame Michaud said piously, "my husband was afraid the troops would not fight, and that we were going to have terrible times; but there is a hope now, that the Commune will be put down."

"Every hope, madame," Cuthbert said. "I was sure this scum of Paris would not fight if the troops would do so. They have too much regard for their worthless skins. It may be some time before McMahon can get a force together sufficient to take Paris, but sooner or later he will do so, though it will be a serious business with the forts all in the hands of the Communists. If they had but handed over one or two of the forts to the gendarmes, or kept a company or two of sailors there, there would have been a line by which the troops could have approached the town, as it is they will have to bring up siege-guns and silence Issy and Vanves before much can be done."

An hour later Monsieur Michaud arrived; he too had been in the city and was in ignorance of what had taken place during the morning.

"That accounts for it," he said, "we are all ordered to be under arms at eight o'clock this evening."

"But you will not go?" his wife exclaimed anxiously.

"But I must go, my dear. I have no desire to be shot, and I think there is much more fear of my being shot, if I don't answer to the call of my name than there will be if I do. In the first place, we may not go out beyond the wall, in the second place, if there is I may see a chance of running away, for mind you, though I hope I should have fought as bravely as others if the Germans had come, I do not feel myself called upon to fight against Frenchmen and in a cause I hate."

"You will find yourself in good company anyhow, Monsieur Michaud," Cuthbert laughed. "We have seen nineteen hundred and fifty men out of two thousand march off without firing a shot to-day."

"So much the better, monsieur, four out of five of the National Guards hate it all as much as I do. Will you dine with us to-day, monsieur, and then we can go down together afterwards."

Cuthbert accepted the invitation willingly. "Yes, you can come down with us, Mary," he went on, in answer to a look of appeal from her. "I will bring her back safely, Madame Michaud, the sight will be well worth seeing. Before I go I will have a look round and see if I can get a bed for the night, it is a long way out from my lodgings and I should like to be out here by daylight, for if they mean to march on Versailles they are sure to start as soon as it is light."

"We have a spare room," Madame Michaud said, "and it is quite at your disposal. It will be doing us a kindness if you will accept it, for when my husband is away I always feel nervous without a man in the house, and as it is but ten minutes' walk from here to the Arc de Triomphe, you will be on the spot, and indeed from the roof of this house you can obtain a view all over the country."

A great change had taken place in the appearance of Paris when they went down in the evening, the town was in a state of the wildest excitement, everywhere drums were beating and trumpets sounding, everywhere National Guards mustering. The streets were crowded, the most violent language uttered by the lower classes, and threats of all kinds poured out against the 'butchers of Versailles.' On the walls were red placards issued by the Commune and headed "Men of Paris. The butchers of Versailles are slaughtering your brethren!!!"

"As a rule the brethren decline to be slaughtered, Mary," Cuthbert said as they read the proclamation. "You see, if the troops fire they are butchers, if the National Guards fire they are heroes. Considering that Paris has ten armed men to every one McMahon has got, even if all the troops could be relied upon, the Parisians must indeed be of a mild temper if they submit to be butchered."

Monsieur Michaud now left them to take his place in the ranks of his battalion. It was not long before the National Guards were in motion, and for hours columns of troops moved up the Champs Elysees. The Rue Rivoli was actually choked with the men; the mob shouted "Vive la Commune" until they were hoarse, and the battalions from the working quarters lustily sang the chorus of the Marseillaise.

At ten o'clock Cuthbert and Mary arrived at the Arc de Triomphe on their way back. Along the whole line from the Tuileries the National Guard were bivouacked. The arms were piled down the centre of the road, and many of the men had already wrapped themselves in their blankets and lain down to sleep with their heads on their knapsacks. The wine-shops in the neighborhood were all crowded, and it was evident that many of the men had determined to keep it up all night.

Madame Michaud had coffee ready for them on their return, and after drinking it they went to their rooms, Mary being completely tired out with the fatigue and excitement of the day. At five o'clock Cuthbert was up; he had told Mary the night before that he would return for her at eight. On arriving at the Arc de Triomphe he found the National Guards pouring down the avenue to the Fort Maillot. Three heavy columns were marching along the roads which converged at the Bridge of Neuilly. Here Cuthbert expected a desperate struggle, but a few shots only were fired, and then a small body of troops covered by a party of skirmishers, retired up the hill, and then turning off made their way towards Fort Valerien.

The force was evidently insufficient to hold the bridge against the masses of revolutionists advancing against it, and the real resistance to the forces of the Commune would commence further back. Crossing the bridge the National Guard spread out to the right and left and mounted the hill, as they did so some eighteen-pounder guns which had been the day before mounted on the Fort, opened fire on the bridge, and for a time the forward movement ceased, and the regiment on their way down towards the gate were halted. Cuthbert chatted for some time with one of the officers and learnt from him that this was not the real point of attack.

"It is from the other side of the river that the great stroke against the Versaillaise will be struck," he said, "a hundred and fifty thousand National Guards advanced on that side; they will cross the heights of Meudon, and move straight to Versailles. We have but some twenty-five thousand here, and shall advance as soon as the others have attacked Meudon."

In an hour the forward movement had again commenced, a heavy column poured across the bridge, the firing from Valerien having now ceased. Cuthbert watched the black mass advancing up the slope towards Courbeil. It was not until they reached the top of the slope that Valerien suddenly opened fire. Puff after puff of white smoke darted out from its crest in quick succession, the shells bursting in and around the heavy column. In a moment its character changed; it had been literally cut in half by the iron shower. Those in front of the point where the storm had struck it, broke off and fled to the village of Nanterre on the left, where they took shelter among the houses. The other portion of the column broke up as suddenly, and became at once a disorganized mob, who at the top of their speed rushed down to the slope again to the bridge at Neuilly. Across this they poured in wild confusion and made no halt until they had passed the Fort Maillot. There the officers attempted to rally them, but in vain; many had thrown their muskets away in their flight, the rest slung them behind them, and continued their way to Paris, all vowing that they had been betrayed, and that they would have vengeance on the Commune. Seeing that there was no more probability of fighting on his side, Cuthbert returned to Madame Michaud's.

"Madame is on the roof," Margot said as he entered; "everyone is up there: she said I was to give you breakfast when you came in; the coffee is ready, and I have an omelette prepared, it will be cooked in three minutes; Madame said that you would be sure to be hungry after being out so long." In a quarter of an hour he ascended to the roof. The resident on the ground-floor had an astronomical telescope with which he was in the habit of reconnoitring the skies from the garden. This he had taken up to the roof, where some twenty persons were gathered. A magnificent view was obtained here of the circle of hills from Valerien round by Meudon, and the whole of the left bank of the river. It needed but a glance to see that the army of the Commune had made but little progress. Although the fighting began soon after two o'clock in the morning, and it was now nearly mid-day, the heights of Meudon were still in the hands of the troops.

From among the trees by the chateau white puffs of smoke shot out, many of the shells bursting in and around the fort of Issy, which replied briskly. The guns of Vanves joined in the combat, their fire being directed towards the plateau of Chatillon, which was held by the troops. Round Issy a force of the National Guard was assembled, but the main body was in the deep valley between the forts and Meudon, and on the slopes nearly up to the chateau; the rattle of musketry here was continuous, a light smoke drifting up through the trees. After a time it was evident that the line of musketry fire was lower down the hill, descending, showing that the troops were pressing the Communists backwards, and presently one of the batteries near the chateau shifted its position, and took ground some distance down the hill, and this and a battery near the end of the viaduct by the chateau, opened a heavy fire on the forts.

A look through the telescope showed that the Communists were crouching behind walls and houses, occasionally, when the fire of the guns was silent, a few of them would get up and advance into the open, but only to scamper back into shelter as soon as they reopened fire.

"That settles it, monsieur," Cuthbert said, to the owner of the telescope, after taking a long look through it, "hitherto, the Communists have believed that Versailles was at their mercy, and they had but to march out to capture it. They have failed, and failure means their final defeat. They say that the prisoners of war are arriving in Versailles at the rate of two or three thousand a day, and in another fortnight, Thiers will have a force sufficient to take the offensive, and by that time, will doubtless have siege-guns in position. I don't say that Paris may not hold out for a considerable time, but it must fall in the long run, and I fear, that all who have got anything to lose will have a very bad time of it."

"I fear so, monsieur; as these wretches become more desperate, they will proceed to greater lengths. You see they have already insisted that all the National Guard—whatever their opinions—shall join in the defence of the city. They have declared the confiscation of the goods of any member of the Guard who shall leave the town. I hear a decree is likely to be published to-morrow or next day confiscating all Church property; already they have taken possession of the churches, and turned them into clubs. If they do such things now, there is no saying to what lengths they may go as they see their chances of success diminishing daily."

Although the artillery fire was maintained for some time longer, it was by three o'clock evident that the battle was virtually over. The party therefore descended from the roof, and Cuthbert strolled back to the centre of Paris. The streets, that evening, presented a very strong contrast to the scene of excitement that had reigned twenty-four hours before. There was no shouting and singing; no marching of great bodies of troops. An air of gloom pervaded the lower classes, while the bourgeois remained for the most part in their houses, afraid that the deep satisfaction the events of the day had caused them, might betray itself in their faces.

For the next few days Cuthbert worked steadily, going up late in the afternoon to Passy. The Commune had, on the day after the failure against Versailles, issued a decree that all unmarried men from seventeen to thirty-five, should join the ranks, and a house-to-house visitation was ordered to see that none escaped the operation of the decree. One of these parties visited Cuthbert: it consisted of a man with a red sash, and two others in the uniform of the National Guard. As soon as they were satisfied of Cuthbert's nationality, they left, having been much more civil than he had expected. He thought it advisable, however, to go at once to the Hotel de Ville, where, on producing his passport, he was furnished with a document bearing the seal of the Commune, certifying that being a British subject, Cuthbert Hartington was exempt from service, and was allowed to pass anywhere without molestation.

Equal good luck did not attend the other students, all of whom were, to their intense indignation, enrolled upon the list of the National Guard of their quarter. Cuthbert had difficulty in retaining a perfectly serious countenance, as Rene, Pierre, and two or three others came in to tell him what had occurred.

"And there is no getting away from it," Rene said. "If we had thought that it would come to this, of course we would have left Paris directly this affair began, but now it is impossible: no tickets are issued by the railways except to old men, women and children, no one is allowed to pass through the gates without a permit from the Commune, and even if one could manage to get on to the wall and drop down by a rope one might be taken and shot by the Communist troops outside, or, if one got through them, by the sentries of the army of Versailles. What would you advise us to do, Cuthbert?"

"I am afraid I can't give you any advice whatever, Rene, it is certainly horribly unpleasant being obliged to fight in a cause you detest, but I don't think there will be a very great deal of fighting till an assault is made on the city, and when that begins, I should say the Communists will be too busy to look for absentees from the ranks."

"We shall be in double danger then," Pierre Leroux put in. "We run the risk of being shot by the Communists for not fighting at the barricades, and if we escape that, we have a chance of being shot by the Versaillais as Communists. It is a horrible position to be placed in."

"Well, I should say, Pierre, keep your eyes open and escape if you possibly can before the assault takes place. I should think some might manage to get out as women, but, of course you would have to sacrifice your mustaches. But if you did that, and borrowed the papers of some young woman or other, you might manage it. No doubt it would be awkward if you were found out, but it might be worth trying. If I cannot leave before the assault takes place I mean to go to one of the English hotels here, Meurice's or the Dover, and establish myself there. During such fighting as there may be in the streets, there will be very few questions asked, and one might be shot before one could explain one was a foreigner, but the hotels are not likely to be disturbed. Seriously I should say that the best thing you can all do when the fighting begins in the streets, is to keep out of the way until your battalion is engaged, then burn anything in the way of uniform, get rid of your rifle somehow, and gather at Goude's. He could vouch for you all as being his pupils, and as being wholly opposed to the Commune. His name should be sufficiently well known, if not to the first officer who may arrive, at least, to many officers, for his testimony to be accepted. Still, I do think that the best plan of all will be to get out of the place when you get a chance."

Some of the students did succeed in getting out. Pierre and two others made their way down through the drains, came out on the river at night, and swam across. One of the youngest went out by train dressed as a woman, but the rest were forced to don the uniform and take their places in the ranks of the National Guard. The question of leaving Paris was frequently discussed by Cuthbert and Mary Brander, but they finally determined to stay. It was morally certain that the troops would enter Paris either at the Port Maillot or at the gate of Pont du Jour; or at any rate, somewhere on that side of Paris. Once inside the walls they would meet with no resistance there—the fighting would only commence when they entered the city itself. Passy was to a large extent inhabited by well-to-do people, and it was not here that the search for Communists would begin. The troops would here be greeted as benefactors.

"I do not think there is the smallest risk, Mary; if there were, I should say at once that we had better be off, and I would escort you down to Cornwall, but as there seems to me no danger whatever, I should say let us stick to our original plan. I own I should like to see the end of it all. You might amuse yourself at present by making a good-sized Union Jack, which you can hang out of your window when the troops enter. When I see the time approaching, I intend to make an arrangement with the Michauds to establish myself here, so as to undertake the task of explaining, if necessary, but I don't think any explanation will be asked. It is likely enough that as soon as the troops enter they will establish themselves in this quarter before making any further advance; they will know that they have hard fighting before them, and until they have overcome all opposition, will have plenty to think about, and will have no time to spare in making domiciliary visits."



CHAPTER XXIII.

Arnold Dampierre had moved from his lodgings in the Quartier Latin at the outbreak of the insurrection, and had taken up his abode in one of the streets leading up to Montmartre. There he was in close connection with many of the leaders of the Commune, his speeches and his regular attendance at their meetings, his connection with Dufaure, who was the president of one of the revolutionary committees, and with his daughter, and the fact that he was an American, had rendered him one of the most conspicuous characters in the Quarter. He would have been named one of the delegates of the Council of the Commune, but he refused the honor, preferring to remain, as he said, "the representative of the great republic across the seas."

More than once Cuthbert met him as he rode about, but only once did they speak. Cuthbert was crossing the square in front of the Hotel de Ville, when he saw Arnold Dampierre. The latter was on foot and did not notice Cuthbert until he was within a few yards of him; as his eye fell on him he hesitated and then walked on as if about to pass without speaking; Cuthbert, however, held out his hand.

"Why, Dampierre," he said, "you are not going to cut me, are you? There has been no quarrel between us, and the last time we met was when we were lying next to each other in the ambulance."

Dampierre took the offered hand. "No, no," he said with nervous quickness, "no quarrel at all, Hartington, but you see we have gone different ways, that is to say, I have gone out of your way, and thought that you would not care to continue the acquaintance."

"There is no such feeling on my part, I can assure you. There need be no question between us as to the part you have taken. I am sorry, but it is no concern of mine, and after living in the same house for a year or so, and having faced death side by side at Champigny, no difference of political opinion should interfere with our friendship. Besides, you know," he added with a laugh, "I may want to get you to exert your influence on my behalf. Events are thickening. In troubled times it is always well to have a friend at court, and if I come to be treated as a suspect, I shall refer to you for a character as a peaceable and well-intentioned student of art."

"There is no fear of anything of that sort, Hartington; but should you, by any possibility, get into trouble, you have but to send to me. However, this state of things will not last long, the people are fairly roused now and will soon sweep the butchers of Versailles before them, and a reign of perfect freedom and equality will be established, and the world will witness the spectacle of a free country, purging itself from the tyranny of capital and the abuse of power, under which it has so long groaned. But I have much to do and must be off," and with a hasty shake of the hand he hurried away again.

Cuthbert looked after him. "The poor fellow is fast qualifying for a mad-house," he said; "he has changed sadly, his cheeks are hollow and his eyes unnaturally brilliant. Those patches of color on his cheeks are signs of fever rather than of health. That woman, Minette, is responsible for this ruin. It must end badly one way or the other; the best thing that could happen to him would be to fall in one of these sorties. He has made himself so conspicuous that he is almost certain to be shot when the troops take Paris, unless, indeed, he becomes an actual lunatic before that. Wound up as he is by excitement and enthusiasm he will never bring himself to sneak off in disguise, as most of the men who have stirred up this business will do."

The time passed quickly enough in Paris, events followed each other rapidly, there was scarce a day without fighting, more or less serious. Gradually the troops wrested position after position from the Communists, but not without heavy fighting. The army at Versailles had swelled so rapidly by the arrival of the prisoners from Germany that even in Paris, where the journals of the Commune endeavored to keep up the spirits of the defenders by wholesale lying as to the result of the fighting outside its walls. It was known that at least a hundred thousand men were now gathered at Versailles.

"There is no doubt of one thing," Cuthbert said, as standing with Mary on the Trocadero, they one day watched the duel, when the guns at Meudon were replying vigorously to the fire of the forts, "I must modify my first opinions as to the courage of the Communists. They have learnt to fight, and allowing for all the exaggeration and bombast of their proclamations, they now stand admirably; they have more than once retaken positions from which they have been driven, and although very little is said about their losses, I was talking yesterday to a surgeon in one of the hospitals, and he tells me that already they must be as great as those throughout the whole of the first siege.

"They are still occasionally subject to panics. For instance, there was a bad one the other night when the troops took the Chateau of Becon, and again at Clamart, but I fancy that is owing to the mistake the Communists made in forcing men who are altogether opposed to them into their ranks. These men naturally bolt directly they are attacked, and that causes a panic among the others who would have fought had the rest stood. Still, altogether, they are fighting infinitely better than expected, and at Clamart they fought really well in the open for the first time. Before, I own that my only feelings towards the battalions of beetle-browed ruffians from the faubourgs was disgust, now I am beginning to feel a respect for them, but it makes the prospect here all the darker.

"I have no doubt that as soon as McMahon has got all his batteries into position he will open such a fire as will silence the forts and speedily make breaches in the walls; but the real fighting won't begin till they enter. The barricades were at first little more than breastworks, but they have grown and grown until they have become formidable fortifications, and, if stoutly defended, and with every house occupied by desperate men, it will be terrible work carrying them by assault. However, there are few places where the main defences cannot be turned, for it is impossible to fortify every street. However, if the Communists fight as desperately as we may now expect, in their despair, the work of clearing the whole city must occupy many days."

"It will be very unpleasant in Passy when the batteries on all those heights open fire."

"It would, indeed, if they were to direct their fire in this direction, for they could wipe Passy out altogether in a few hours; but everything shows that Thiers is anxious to spare Paris itself as much as possible. Not a shot has been fired at random, and scarcely a house has been injured. They fire only at the forts and at the batteries on this side, and when they begin in earnest I have no doubt it will be the same. It would be a mere waste of shot to fire up there, and if the Versailles people were to do unnecessary damage it would bring them into odium throughout all France, for it would be said that they were worse than the Prussians."

On the 25th of April, at 8 o'clock in the morning, the long silence of the besiegers' batteries ended. Cuthbert was taking his coffee when he heard a sound like the rumble of a heavy wagon. He ran to his window. There was quiet in the street below, for everyone had stopped abruptly to listen to the roar, and from every window heads appeared. Completing his dressing hastily, he went out and took the first fiacre he met and drove to Passy. The rumble had deepened into a heavy roar; the air quivered with the vibrations, and the shriek of the shells mingled with the deep booming of the guns. When he entered Madame Michaud's, she, her husband and Mary were standing at the open window.

"We have just come down from the top of the house," Mary said, "it is a grand sight from there; will you come up, Cuthbert?"

"Certainly, Mary; you see I was right, and there do not seem to be any shell coming this way."

"No. But we were all desperately alarmed, were we not madame, when they began."

"It was enough to alarm one," Madame Michaud said indignantly, "half the windows were broken, and that was enough to startle one even without the firing."

"It was perfectly natural, madame," Cuthbert agreed; "the first shock is always trying, and even soldiers with seasoned nerves might be excused for starting, when such a din as this commenced."

Cuthbert and Mary went up at once to the roof, where the old gentleman from below had already set up his telescope. He did not need that, however, to observe what was going on. Along almost the whole crest of the eminences round the south and west, heavy guns were playing upon the defences. From the heights of Chatillon, the puffs of white smoke came thick and fast, the battery at the Chateau of Meudon was hard at work, as were those of Brimborien and Breteuil. Mount Valerien was joining in the fray, while batteries on the plateau of Villejuif were firing at the forts of Montrouge and Bicetre. Without exception, the greater part of the fire was concentrated upon the forts of Issy and Vanves, while attention was also being paid to the batteries at Point de Jour and Porte Maillot.

The Communists replied to the fire steadily, although Issy, which came in for by far the largest share of the attentions of the assailants, fired only a gun now and then, showing that it was still tenanted by the defenders. It was difficult indeed to see how often it replied, for the shell burst so frequently on it that it was difficult to distinguish between their flashes and those of its guns. Through the telescope could be seen how terrible was the effect of the fire; already the fort had lost the regularity of its shape, and the earth, with which it had been thickly covered, was pitted with holes. Presently there was an outburst of firing comparatively close at hand.

"That is the battery on the Trocadero," one of the party exclaimed. "I think that they must be firing at Valerien, I saw several spurts of smoke close to it."

"I hope not," Cuthbert said, "for if Valerien answers, our position here will not be so pleasant."

For an hour Valerien disregarded the shells bursting in and around it, and continuing its fire against Issy.

"That was a good shot," the astronomer said, as he sat with his eyes at his telescope watching the fort. "A shell burst right on one of the embrasures." A minute or two later came a rushing sound, rising rapidly to a scream; instinctively most of those on the roof ducked their heads.

"Valerien is waking up," Cuthbert said; "here comes another."

For an hour Valerien poured its fire upon the battery on the Trocadero, and with so accurate an aim that at the end of that time it was reduced to silence. While the fire was going on, those on the roof went below, for although the precision with which the artillerymen fired was so excellent that there was but slight danger, the trial to the nerves from the rush of the heavy shell was so great that they were glad to leave the roof and to take their places at the windows below. The danger was no less, for had a shell struck the house and exploded, it would have wrecked the whole building, but there was some sense of safety in drawing back behind the shelter of the wall as the missiles were heard approaching.

To the disappointment of the middle class who still remained in Paris, the bombardment was only partly renewed on the following day, and then things went on as before. It was supposed that its effects, great as they had been on the forts most exposed to it, had not come up to the expectations of the besiegers, and the telescope showed that the troops were hard at work erecting a great battery on Montretout, an eminence near St. Cloud. On the night of the 5th of May the whole of the batteries opened fire again, and the troops made a desperate effort to cut the force in Issy from communication either with the town or with Vanves. The National Guard poured out from the city, and for some hours the fighting was very severe, the troops at last succeeding in their object; but as soon as they had done so, the guns on the enciente and those of Vanves opened so tremendous a fire upon them, that they were forced to abandon the positions they had won.

At the Railway Station at Clamart there was also heavy fighting; the National Guard attacked suddenly and in such overwhelming numbers that after a short but desperate resistance, the garrison of the station were forced to retire. Reinforcements were soon brought up, the troops again advanced and the insurgents were driven out. Their loss during the night was put down as a thousand. On the 8th Montretout, which was armed with 72 heavy guns, opened fire, the rest of the batteries joined in, and for a couple of hours the din was terrific. The next day Issy was captured by the troops. They attacked the village at daybreak, and advancing slowly, capturing house by house, they occupied the church and marketplace at noon. Just as they had done so, a battalion of Insurgents were seen advancing, to reinforce the garrison of the Fort. They were allowed to advance to within fifty yards when a heavy volley was poured into them. They halted for a moment, but their colonel rallied them. He was, however, killed by another volley, when the men at once broke, threw away their arms, and ran back to the city gates. The rest of the village was carried with a rush, and when the troops reached the gate of the Fort, it was found open. It was at once occupied, the whole of the defenders having fled, as they saw that the steady advance of the troops would, if they remained, cut them off from escape. The fall of the Fort was so unexpected that the batteries on the heights continued to fire upon it for some time after the troops had gained possession.

The capture of Issy created an immense effect in Paris. General Rossel resigned the command of the insurgent army. He had been a colonel of the engineers, and was an officer of merit, but his political opinions had proved too much for his loyalty to his country and profession; doubtless he had deemed that if, as at first seemed probable, the insurrection would be successful and the revolution triumph, he would become its Napoleon. He now saw the ruin of his hopes; he had forfeited his position and his life, and in the proclamation he issued announcing his resignation he poured out all the bitterness of his disappointment, and told the Commune his opinion of them, namely, that they were utterly incapable, without an idea of the principles either of liberty or of order, and filled only with jealousy and hatred of each other. So scathing was the indictment, that he was at once arrested, but managed to make his escape.

The fire from the batteries on the assailants' right, was now concentrated upon Vanves, which was evacuated by the insurgents two days later. The fall of these forts left the position at Point de Jour unsupported, and indeed the guns remounted at Issy took its defenders in flank, and rendered it impossible for them to work their guns. In their despair the Commune now threw off the mask of comparative moderation, and proceeded to imitate to its fullest extent the government of the Jacobins. Decrees were passed for the establishment of courts to arrest, try, and execute suspected persons without delay, and under the false pretence that prisoners taken by the troops had been executed, the murder of the Archbishop of Paris and other priests, who had been taken and thrown into prison as hostages, was decided upon.

Upon the fall of Issy being known, Cuthbert considered the end to be so near that it would be better for him to take up his abode permanently at Madame Michaud's. She had been pressing him to do so for some time, as she and her husband thought that the presence of an English gentleman there would conduce to their safety when the troops entered Paris. He had indeed spent most of his time there for the last three weeks, but had always returned to his lodgings at night. He, therefore, packed up his pictures and his principal belongings and drove with them to Passy. Two days later he met Arnold Dampierre.

"I am glad to have met you," the latter said, "I have been to our old place, and found that you had left. Minette and I are to be married to-morrow, a civil marriage, of course, and I should be very glad if you will be present as a witness. There is no saying who will be alive at the end of another week, and I should like the marriage to be witnessed by you."

"I will do so with pleasure, Arnold, though it seems scarcely a time for marrying."

"That is true, but if we escape we must escape together. If I am killed I wish her to go over to America and live as mistress of my place there, therefore, I shall place in your hands an official copy of the register of our marriage. Where will she be able to find you after all this is over?"

Cuthbert gave his address at Madame Michaud's.

"I don't suppose I shall stay there long after all is finished here," he said, "but they will know where to forward any letters to me. Would it not be better, Arnold, for you to throw up all this at once and return to your old lodgings, where you may perhaps remain quietly until the search for the leaders of this affair relaxes?"

Arnold shook his head gloomily; "I must go through it to the end. The cause is a noble one, and it is not because its leaders are base, and at the same time wholly incapable men, that I should desert it. Besides, even if I should do so, she would not. No, it is not to be thought of. The marriage will take place at the Mairie of Montmartre, at eleven o'clock tomorrow."

"I will be there, Arnold." Cuthbert walked slowly back to Passy. He was shocked at the dismal shipwreck, of what had seemed a bright and pleasant future, of the man of whom he had seen so much for upwards of a year. Dampierre's life had seemed to offer a fairer chance of happiness and prosperity than that of any other of the students at Monsieur Goude's. He had an estate amply sufficient to live upon in comfort, and even affluence; and he had artistic tastes that would save him from becoming, like many southern planters, a mere lounger through life. His fatal love for Minette had caused him to throw himself into this insurrection, and to take so prominent a part in it that the chance of his life being spared, did he fall into the hands of the troops, was small indeed; even did he succeed in escaping with Minette his chances of happiness in the future seemed to Cuthbert to be faint indeed. With her passionate impulses she would speedily weary of the tranquil and easy life on a southern plantation, and, with her, to weary was to seek change, and however that change might come about, it would bring no happiness to her husband.

"I am going to see your rival married to-morrow," he said to Mary.

"What, the model? Don't call her my rival, Cuthbert, it makes me ashamed of myself, even to think that I should have suspected you of caring for that woman we saw on horseback the other day."

"Then we will call her your supposed rival, Mary; yes, she is going to be married to Arnold Dampierre, to-morrow."

"What a time to choose for it," she said, with a shudder. "In a few days Paris will be deluged with blood, for the Commune boasts that every street is mined."

"We need not believe all that, Mary; no doubt the principal streets have been mined, but the Commune have made such a boast of the fact, that you may be sure the French generals will avoid the great thoroughfares as much as possible, and will turn the barricades by advancing along the narrow streets and lanes; besides, it is one thing to dig mines and charge them, and quite another thing to explode them at the right moment in the midst of a desperate fight. However, I agree with you that it is a dismal business, but Arnold explained to me that he did it because he and Minette might have to fly together, or, that if he fell, she might inherit his property. He did not seem to foresee that she too might fall, which is, to my mind as likely as his own death, for as in former fights here, the female Communists will be sure to take their place in the barricades with the men, and, if so, I will guarantee that Minette will be one of the foremost to do so. The production of female fiends seem to be one of the peculiarities of French revolutions. As I told you, I am going to the wedding in order to sign as a witness; I could hardly refuse what I regard as the poor fellow's last request, though it will be a most distasteful business."

"The last time you spoke to him, you said it struck you that he was going put of his mind."

"Yes, I thought so and think so still; his manner was changed to-day; before, he had that restless, nervous, excitable look that is the indication of one phase of insanity; to-day there was the gloomy, brooding sort of look that is equally characteristic of another form of madness.

"At the same time that might be well explained by the circumstances, and I have not the same absolute conviction in his sanity that I had before. I suppose you will not care to honor the wedding ceremony by your presence."

"No, no, Cuthbert, not for anything. You cannot think that I should like to be present at such a ghastly ceremony. I thought the churches were all shut up."

"So they are; the marriage is to be a civil one. They will merely declare themselves man and wife in the presence of an official; he will enter them as such in a register, and the affair will be over. I would not say so to Arnold, but I have serious doubt whether the American authorities would recognize the ceremony as a legal one, did she ever appear there to claim possession. Of course, if he gets away also, it can be put right by another marriage when they get out, or they can stop for a few weeks on their way through England, and be married again there."

"It is all most horrid, Cuthbert."

"Well, if you see it in that light, Mary, I won't press you to go to-morrow, and will give up any passing idea that I may have had, that we might embrace the opportunity and be married at the same time."

"It is lucky that you did not make such a proposition to me in earnest, Cuthbert," Mary laughed, "for if you had, I would assuredly have had nothing more to do with you."

"Oh, yes, you would, Mary, you could not have helped yourself, and you would, in a very short time have made excuses for me on the ground of my natural anxiety to waste no further time before securing my happiness."

"No one could expect any happiness after being married in that sort of way. No, sir, when quite a long time on, we do get married, it shall be in a church in a proper and decent manner. I don't know that I might not be persuaded to make a sacrifice and do without bridesmaids or even a wedding-breakfast, but everything else must be strictly en regle."

The next morning at the appointed hour, Cuthbert went up to Montmartre. Several men, whose red scarfs showed that they belonged to the Government of the Commune were standing outside. They looked with some surprise at Cuthbert as he strolled quietly up. "I am here, messieurs, to be a witness to the marriage of my friend, Arnold Dampierre."

The manner of the men instantly changed, and one said, "We are here also to witness the marriage of our noble American friend to the daughter of our colleague, Dufaure. Dampierre is within, Dufaure will be here with his daughter in a few minutes." Cuthbert passed through and entered the office where a Commissary of the Commune was sitting at a table. Arnold was speaking to him. He turned as Cuthbert entered.

"Thank you, Hartington. This is not exactly what I had pictured would be the scene at my wedding, but it is not my fault that it must be managed this way, and I intend to have the ceremony repeated if we get safely to England. After all, it is but what you call a Gretna Green marriage."

"Yes, as you say, you can be married again, Arnold, which would certainly be best in all respects, and might save litigation some day. But here they come, I think."

There was a stir at the door, and Minette and her father entered, followed by the Communists with red scarfs. Arnold also wore one of these insignia. Minette was in her dress as a Vivandiere. She held out her hand frankly to Cuthbert.

"I am glad to see you here, monsieur," she said. "It is good that Arnold should have one of his own people as a witness. You never liked me very much, I know, but it makes no difference now."

"Please to take your place," the officer said. Cuthbert stepped back a pace. Arnold took his place in front of the table with Minette by his side, her father standing close to her.

"There is nothing, Arnold Dampierre," the official asked, "in the laws of your country that would prevent you making a binding marriage."

"Nothing whatever. When a man is of age in America he is free to contract any marriage he chooses without obtaining the consent of any relation whatever."

The official made a note of this. "Martin Dufaure, do you give your sanction and consent to the marriage of your daughter with Arnold Dampierre, American citizen."

"I do," the Communist said.

"Take her hand, Arnold Dampierre."

"Do you take this woman as your wife?"

As the words left his lips, there was a pistol-shot. With a low cry, Arnold fell across the table. Cuthbert had turned at the report, and as the man who had fired, lowered his pistol to repeat the shot, he sprang forward, and struck him with all his weight and strength on the temple. The man fell like a log, his pistol exploding as he did so. With a cry like that of a wounded animal Minette had turned around, snatched a dagger from her girdle, and, as the man fell, she sprang to his side and leant over him with uplifted knife. Cuthbert caught her wrist as she was about to strike.

"Do not soil your hand with blood, Minette," he said quietly as she turned fiercely upon him. "Arnold would not like it; leave this fellow to justice, and give your attention to him."

Dropping the knife she ran forward to the table again, two or three of Arnold's colleagues were already leaning over him. Believing that her lover was dead, Minette would have thrown herself on his body, but they restrained her.

"He is not dead, Minette, the wound is not likely to be fatal, he is only hit in the shoulder."

"You are lying, you are lying, he is dead," Minette cried, struggling to free herself from their restraining arms.

"It is as they say, Minette," her father said, leaning over Arnold, "here is the bullet hole in his coat, it is the same shoulder that was broken before; he will recover, child, calm yourself, I order you."

Minette ceased to struggle, and burst into a passion of tears.

"You had better send a man to fetch a surgeon at once," Cuthbert said to one of the Communists. "I have no doubt Arnold has but fainted from the shock, coming as it did at such a moment," He then looked at the wound.

"'Tis not so serious as the last," he said, "by a long way, it is higher and has no doubt broken the collar bone, but that is not a very serious matter. I think we had better lay him down on that bench, put a coat under his head, pour a few drops of spirits between his lips, and sprinkle his face with cold water."

Cuthbert then went across the room. Several of the Communists were standing round the fallen man.

"He is stunned, I think," Cuthbert said.

"He is dead," one of the men replied. "Your blow was enough to kill an ox. It is the best thing for him, for assuredly he would have been hung before nightfall for this attempt upon the life of our good American colleague."

Cuthbert stooped down and felt the pulse of the fallen man.

"I am afraid he is dead," he said, "certainly I had no intention of killing him. I thought of nothing but preventing him repeating his shot, which he was on the point of doing."

"It does not matter in the least," one of the men said, "it is all one whether he was shot by a bullet of the Versaillais, or hung, or killed by a blow of an Englishman's fist. Monsieur le Commissaire, will you draw up a proces-verbal of this affair?"

But the Commissary did not answer; in the confusion no one noticed that he had not risen from his chair, but sat leaning back.

"Diable, what is this?" the Communist went on, "I believe the Commissary is dead." He hurried round to the back of the table. It was as he said, the shot fired as the man fell had struck him in the heart, and he had died without a cry or a movement.

"Morbleau," another of the Communists exclaimed, "we came here to witness a comedy, and it has turned into a tragedy."

An exclamation from Minette, who was kneeling by Arnold, called Cuthbert's attention to her. The American had opened his eyes.

"What has happened, Minette," he asked, as she laid her head down on his breast and burst into another fit of passionate sobbing.

"You are out of luck, Arnold," Cuthbert said, cheerfully; "a villain has fired at you, but you have got off this time more lightly than the last, and I think it is nothing more than a broken collar-bone, and that is not a very serious business, you know; be quiet for a little time; we shall have the surgeon here directly. Of course Minette is terribly upset, for she thought for a moment that you were killed."

Arnold lay still, stroking Minette's head gently with his right hand; gradually her sobs ceased, and Cuthbert then left them to themselves. The two bodies had by this time been carried into another room, and one of the delegates took his seat at the table and drew out a formal report of the occurrences that had taken place which was signed by the others present and by Cuthbert. A surgeon presently arriving confirmed Cuthbert's view that the collar-bone had been broken, and proceeded to bandage it.

As soon as it was done Arnold stood up unsteadily. "Citizen Rigaud, I presume that, as a high official of the Commune, you can replace the citizen who has fallen and complete the ceremony."

"Certainly, if it is your wish."

"It is my wish more even than before."

"The matter is simple," the delegate said, "my predecessor has already recorded your answers, there remains but for me to complete the ceremony."