about the rooms they use only to sleep in. Paul Astier, like all infantry lieutenants, paid twenty francs a month for his quarters, sixtyfive francs for his board, and for other necessary expenses the remainder of his pay, excepting the small sum of eleven francs per month, which he was at liberty to devote to cigars, to the coffee-house, to literature, to charity, or other extravagancies or superfluities. He occupied a narrow and ill-furnished chamber in the oldest part of the city, but life had always smiled upon him, and he had dreamed pleasant dreams in his little den. A simple volunteer, he had advanced as far at his twenty-sixth year as the graduates of the military school of the same age. His name had already been three times presented at general inspection as a candidate for the cros "Have I ceased to deserve esteem among men, or to have a claim to the respect of young people?" "Every one esteems and respects you, of the Legion of Honour, and he hoped soon major." to be promoted to a captaincy. If he kept on 'You haven't lost your wits by some acci- at the same rate, it was certain he would gain dent?" 66 Not that I know of." "You haven't been drunk to-day?" "No, that I am sure of." "Then why the devil have you insulted me, sacre bleu!" "I, major?" "Who but you? I didn't address this blackguard thing to myself, I suppose. Do you recognize it?" Paul recognized the sketch, which he had supposed destroyed long ago, and had quite forgotten. "Major," said he, "when I drew this wretched caricature a year ago, I did a foolish and improper thing; but he who stole it, kept it, signed it with my name, and sent it to you, has done an infamous one. I ask your pardon for a fault which would have been a slight one if it had not come to your knowledge. As for the beggar who has taken the pains to turn a trivial joke into an insult, I will endeavour to find him out and to punish him as he deserves." "Meantime," said the major, "since I should not have received this work of art unless you had executed it, you will be good enough to consider yourself under close arrest until further orders." III. AN AFFAIR OF HONOUR. It is no great hardship for a civilian to remain in his lodgings, although quite alone, for a week or two; but for a young officer it is a severe punishment. Almost always very poor, there is nothing homelike or attractive the rank of a general officer before he reached the age of superannuation. In the meantime his poverty was not irksome to him, and he was content. But the evening he returned to his lodgings under Major Sparrow's order it seemed to him as if his star had suddenly become eclipsed. and the little room seemed very dismal. He hardly touched his dinner, which the faithful Bodin had brought to him perfectly cold, and soon became absorbed in gloomy reflection. He was discontented with every one, himself included. He had given offence unintentionally to an excellent old man, and this event could not fail to be attended by unlucky consequences. The general inspection was approaching, and, for a fault of which he was only half guilty at the worst, he should run the risk of again failing to obtain the cross. But Paul was less affected by the thought of losing his just rights than by the shame he felt at having such an accusation to make against a fellow-officer. The treachery was so base that he could not bear the thought of imputing it to a comrade. The first sensation of physical ill makes the new-born infant utter cries of pain; and a young man experiences something similar when he first opens his eyes to the existence of moral evil, and discovers that every one is not honest and kind like himself. Without undressing, Paul threw himself upon his little bed and cried. His confinement lasted for a whole fortnight, and during this time of absolute solitude he had no other distraction than the sight of the street and the greasy novels which Bodin brought him from a neighbouring circulating library. Several times he felt ashamed of his idleness, and wished to shake off his torpor, and commence a work upon the military art over which he had long meditated. But he found with grief that his brain refused its services under these conditions, and his thought broke its wings against the wall of his chamber. Meantime Madame Humblot and her daughter had taken again the road to Morans. The old lady was as much vexed as a sportsman who has failed to make a bag, and feels like shooting down pigeons and poultry rather than a return home empty-handed. Towards the end of her stay she had pointed out first one officer and then another to her daughter, and seemed to say to her, "Since the Phoenix has disappeared, let us take the best we have left." But Antoinette's heart was not to be moved. "If it be God's will that I ever marry," said she, "I shall find again him whom I have loved. But if this happiness is denied me, I shall know that it is His will to keep me to Himself." Blanche Vautrin gloated over her despair like a little demon. She never quitted her victim, and tasted drop by drop each one of her innocent tears with ravenous appetite; then all of a sudden she would herself burst into tears without apparent motive, would embrace poor Antoinette with violence, and eagerly demand her favour and pardon. toinette hardly knew how to express her gratitude for such generous outbursts of sympathy, and could only exclaim: An enigmatical language. Nothing is astonishing in the mouth of a girl of fifteen. Two days after the departure of the Humblot family, Paul Astier was released from confinement. The cause of his arrest was not made public, but it was known that he had treated his superior officer with disrespect. His name was stricken off the list of nominations for the cross, and that of Lieutenant Foucault put in its place. When he reappeared at the messtable he received coldly the condolences of his comrades, and when at dessert a bottle of champagne was opened in honour of his return, he rose when his health was proposed. "Gentlemen," he said, "before responding I have a question to ask. Do any of you recollect that about a year ago I showed one day at table a caricature of Major Sparrow?" He did not wait for an answer, but continued in a dry tone: "The dinner ended so gaily that I forgot to take my sketch with me. Did any of you happen to find it?” "I did," said Foucault. "Ah, indeed! was it you? The coincidence is disagreeable. "How good and kind you are! and how I take at any rate this glass of wine in your love you!" "Oh, no," Blanche would reply; "you must detest me, rather. I have a wicked heart, I am a monster!" Three or four times she was just on the point of avowing everything, but something restrained her. It was neither jealousy nor the dread of blame, nor remorse for the lies she had told, but a kind of shamefaced pride. The day Mademoiselle Humblot bade her good-by, with every demonstration of affection, she said to her: "I do not ask your friendship, but your prayers. I am more unhappy than you, though you cannot understand it. My conscience is like a field of battle covered with the dead and wounded. I have done all I possibly could to aid you; and if you are not happy, there are others much more wretched than you." No one sought for the explanation of this face." The action followed the word. The others interfered to prevent a scuffle, and a duel was settled upon. The colonel could not interpose to prevent it, as the insult had been too flagrant. The next morning early they fought with regulation swords, and Paul Astier was run through the body. For two months he lay in the hospital just between life and death. IV. THE END OF IT. About this time Blanche Vautrin fell into that languishing state of health which is often attributed to too rapid growth in girls of her age. She had fever, convulsions, and delirium, and several times was given up by the physicians; but she passed through the crisis, and began slowly to recover. But her illness and convalescence wrought a wonderful change in her appearance. Her self-reproach and self-bewailings, the climate, friends, if she had any, would hardly have the open air, exercise, and, above all, youth, recognized the little homely Blanche in the had performed their work, and completely tall, pale, and slender young girl, who was metamorphosed her little person. now, attended by her anxious mother, driven about in the sunshiny autumn days. Her eyes were now large and lustrous, her nose straight and thin, of Grecian outline, and her pale lips were bounded by lines of delicate and antique grace. The lack of harmony in her features was now no longer seen, and it seemed as if everything had been moulded anew by the cruel hands of suffering and distress. Nor was this change confined to her external features. Her voice had acquired a sweeter tone and more sympathetic inflections, and her wit and judgment seemed to have lost their causticity and harshness. She gradually recovered her strength, but her gaiety had quite forsaken her. It was thought she could hardly endure the winter of Lorraine, and it was arranged that she should spend the cold season in Palermo with her mother. At Palermo she was thought beautiful, and her mother passed hours and hours before her in rapturous contemplation. Indeed, it seemed as though base lead had been transmuted into shining silver; and after six months' absence Madame Vautrin brought back to Nancy a Blanchette who was charming. Paul Astier had completely recovered, and not only had resumed his military duty, but for two months had been hard at work at his quarters. He would not have allowed himself an hour of recreation a week if he had not been obliged to appear at the Monday evening receptions. This necessity brought him several times into Mademoiselle Vautrin's presence, but he always affected not to know her. Beautiful or ugly, she was neither more nor less monstrous in his eyes; but still he did not fail to do justice to her beauty. One evening when he was near her, though her back was toward him, she divined his pre sence, and, turning quickly upon him, said: "Am I then so much changed, Monsieur Astier, that you have quite forgotten me?" He replied, coldly: The day of their departure they met before the door of the station a tall and pale young officer, who was walking painfully along, one arm resting upon a cane, and the other on the shoulder of the faithful Bodin. He touched his cap to the colonel, who was in the carriage, then turned away with an indefinable expression of disdain. Blanche comprehended that an explanation with Lieutenant Foucault had taken place after the duel, and that Paul was Then turning away from her he left the room, no longer ignorant of the author of his misfor-lighted his cigar in the vestibule, and humtunes. "Always and everywhere, mademoiselle, no matter what changes may happen, you may be sure of my grateful remembrance." ming an air returned to his quarters, where Madame Vautrin, always kind and tender- his work was awaiting him. This was the hearted, said to her daughter: "There's a poor fellow who sorely needs a trip to Sicily too." "Unluckily," replied the colonel, "he has only his pay to live on." execution of his long-considered plan of a new work upon the military art, which should revolutionize the whole system and organization of the army. He felt so sure he was right, and the fever of invention so wrought upon him, that without waiting for the necessary official permission to publish his work, he hurried with it to the printer, and had a first edition of fifteen hundred copies struck off at once. This involved an outlay of six thousand francs, of which he had not a single sou. But he felt so sure of success that he did not hesitate to incur this obligation in order to hasten it. Blanche could not help thinking that except for her the young officer would be in good health, rich, and happy. Her remorse followed her to the land of the orange and myrtle. To a soul not utterly corrupt a bad action is a heavy burden. Hardly a day passed that Blanche did not think of Paul Astier, and ask herself, "Where is he now? what has become of him? He must feel the cold so cruelly, while I seek shelter from the warm sunbeams. Perhaps he may have had a relapse, perhaps he is dead, and I should know nothing of it! No, one would inform me, and I, unhappy girl, have not even the right to ask a question concerning him!" Of the ten copies nine were thrown aside unWhile she was passing her life in alternate read; the tenth fell into the hands of an old He sent the first ten copies to the bureaus of the War Department, quite persuaded not only that the publication would be permitted, but that the entire edition would be immediately bought up by the government for distribution through the army. bureau martinet, who opened it to kill time, and almost burst with indignation at the first page. "What! overthrow the established order of things! Abolish the red-tape and circumlocution office! Raise a sacrilegious hand against a system and an institution so perfect and so beautiful, one which in a few years would make France the fourth or fifth power of the Continent! And in what disordered brain had such a revolutionary idea first germinated? A lieutenant's! In a general it might possibly have been pardoned, in a colonel passed over with slight reprimand, but in a lieutenant it is simply damnable!" Upon the report of the old officer the Minister of War caused a severe letter to be sent to Astier, forbidding the publication, and warning him against similar imprudences if he would not entirely ruin his prospects in the army. If the matter could have rested there no harm would have been done; but the paper and printing had to be paid for, and as Astier made no secret of his absolute poverty, his creditors were obliged to write to the colonel to make reclamation upon his pay-roll. Now his pay barely sufficed as it was for his subsistence; but supposing one-fifth of it to be applied to the claims of his creditors, the liquidation would require a few days over nineteen years. In such cases the rule adopted by the military authority cannot be sufficiently admired. The debtor is at once placed on the retired list; that is to say, reduced to half-pay! Paul Astier then found himself one fine morning in a condition of semi-destitution, which left him about eighty francs per month. His colonel took him aside, and said to him, with all the courtesy and kindness imaginable: "You had begun so well! But now for two years you seem to have got into a streak of bad luck. It began with your trouble with Sparrow. I'm not superstitious, but sometimes it seems to me as if some one had cast a spell over you." "It may be so, colonel." The next day he quitted the service and began to give lessons in the town. As he had some good friends who recommended him, he soon had plenty of pupils. He taught some drawing, and others mathematics. He no longer frequented the café, was prodigiously economical, reduced his expenses to one hundred francs a month, and began to pay something to his creditors. One day some one asked him if he would give a young lady lessons in watercolours. "Certainly," said he. "Well, take care you don't fall in love with your pupil. She is Mademoiselle Vautrin." "Ah! right enough," replied Paul; "she is much too pretty; besides, I have no time to give her." Blanche kept herself informed of all that he did. She talked with the orderly, Schumacher, who tippled with Bodin, who still served his old lieutenant gratis. The young girl felt sincere admiration for the young man who showed so much courage in his ill fortune. She saw him struggling against impossibilities without the least affectation of heroism, and rolling the rock of Sisyphus with the same simplicity with which a day-labourer trundles his wheel-barrow. For the first time in her life she awoke to the conception of true greatness of soul, which is never without simplicity; but the more justice she rendered to her enemy the more rigorously she condemned her own conduct. One sad October day she saw from her window a tall young man hurrying along the street in the driving rain and sheltering himself, his books, and his papers, as well as he could under his umbrella. It was Astier. "There he goes," said she to herself, "he who once was the gayest, the brightest, the most cheerful officer of the regiment; and it is I who have brought him to this pitiable state!" As she was absorbed in these reflections Astier raised his head, and recognizing the colonel's daughter, touched his cap politely, without slackening his pace. She leaped toward him with a kind of frenzy, like a blind or a crazy person. Her arms were extended before her, her hands struck the window panes, and drawing back, as if overcome by shame, she fell into a chair and burst into sobs. The young man caught in his haste some glimpses of this pantomime, and fell into a reverie as he returned to his den. "My eyes must have deceived me, or I have comprehended ill," thought he; "but even though she should repent of her wickedness, remorse would only make one more contradiction in her perverse and wilful soul." Nevertheless, this trifling incident left a pleasant impression after it. Paul Astier all at once found the sky less sombre and his little chamber less dreary. His conscience felt relieved of a burden, although in this guerilla warfare he had no cause for self-reproach. He thought oftener and more pleasantly upon the inexplicable creature who now seemed to bear him some little good-will, after having done him so much mischief. The sudden change excited his curiosity, like a problem to be solved. He was naturally led to pass from time to time before the colonel's house, which he used before to shun. He sometimes caught the eye of Mademoiselle Vautrin, and he felt sure that she now no longer looked upon him with hatred. But as he was miserably poor and wretched, and as the most of his troubles could be laid to her door, his lips still expressed a bitterness which was no longer in his soul. "She is an odious monster, yet she may have some vestige of a heart after all. But she is a pretty monster none the less." If he had visited as he used to do, Blanche might have plucked up courage to have gone straight to him and to sign a treaty of peace between two quadrilles. She felt strong enough to confess all her wrongs and to beg for absolution. But where could she meet this mercenary, who was beating the pavement from six in the morning until he retired to his hole at eight in the evening? She certainly could not pursue him in the streets. Six long months passed by-long for Astier, who was toiling hard, and long for Blanche, who was wearing away a purposeless and weary life. One morning she received a letter with the post-mark of Morans. She durst not open it, and ran to her mother, crying, "Open and read it; I am afraid to. I feel sure Antoinette, Humblot is going to be married." Her instinct had not deceived her. Antoinette announced with sadness her approaching sacrifice. After having made two trials of the convent without succeeding in resigning herself to its privations, the poor girl had ended by devoting herself to her mother's happiness. She was to be married to a neighbouring farmer, a widower, but still young, whom she esteemed without loving. The nuptials were to be celebrated in a fortnight, unless some miracle should intervene. They hoped to enliven them by the presence of Madame and Mademoiselle Vautrin, but could not promise them very gay countenances. The postscript was charmingly sincere: "MY DEAR BLANCHE, I still preserve in the depths of my heart a souvenir which I cannot now suffer to remain there without sin. I pluck it out and send it to you. When you shall have destroyed this letter it will have ceased to exist. It is done. I beg your tears." Blanche did more than weep; she sobbed aloud, she prayed, she begged pardon of God, of her mother, of poor devoted Antoinette. "No!" she cried, "I will not destroy a souvenir so touching and so pure! Good, faithful, noble girl she was made for him; they are worthy of each other. Ah! shall every one but me in this wretched world be of some worth and value? I will become like them, cost what it will! I will undo my detestable work, and will repair the harm I have done. Without a miracle, did you say, dear angel? Then a miracle there shall be!" Madame Vautrin was utterly confounded at this explosion, and sobbed and wept without knowing why. "But tell me," she begged, "tell me what is the matter. What has happened? Heaven help me, my daughter has lost her wits!" "No, mother, I am calm, and I will be brave, and you shall know all. But send for my father; he must be here." When she was in presence of her judges, she drew up her own indictment, and did not spare herself. The history of the album terrified her mother, who could hardly credit such deep dis simulation in her daughter; but the colonel was not so much affected by it, and perhaps only half understood it. But when he knew that Blanche had put the signature of Astier and the address of the major to the fatal caricature, he turned pale, and sprang to his feet with uplifted hand. "Wretch!" cried he, "I would crush you this instant before me if you were a man; but, thanks to Heaven, you are a miserable girl, and will not always bear my name!" She did not bend before his terrible anger, but walked straight up to him and said: "Kill me, father. You will do me a kindness, for I am so wretched." When she had confessed everything the colonel said to her: Do you know what we have now to do? I shall send for Astier, and will recount to him before you all your infamous behaviour: I wil place him again in the path of fortune and happiness from which your wickedness has driven him; and, as you are an inferior and irresponsible creature, I will myself ask his forgiveness for the wrong you have done him." Paul was sent for and came in. As soon as he perceived the two ladies he understood that there was no question of military duty, but he could guess no more. Madame Vautrin was wiping her eyes, and Blanche was clutching the arms of her chair as if there had been an abyss before her. The colonel was red in the face, and pulled at his shirt collar, and twisted his mustache, and cast furious glances about him. "My dear Astier," he began, "you will one day be a father-soon, I hope. May Heaven preserve you from ever knowing the shame which at this instant is strangling me! Do |