It was about ten o'clock. Within, all was light, life and loveliness; without, the winter wind moaned drearily through the leafless trees of the Boulevard, and the drifting sleet swept along the deserted streets. It was a wild night. Throughout all Paris seemed going forth a portentous murmur, like that mysterious moaning of the ocean, which, with mariners, is the prelude of a storm. An ominous whispering, as of many voices, seemed to sink and swell on the sweeping night blast; then all was still. Again, in the distance, would rise a sharp shout, or the stern, brief word of military command. At intervals, also, one might imagine he heard a deep rumbling, as of heavy ordnance and its tumbrels over the pavements, accompanied by the measured tread of armed men and the clattering hoofs of cavalry horses. Then these sounds died away, and along the narrow streets of Paris again the night wind only swept, the bitter blast howled and the ominous whispering, as of spirits, rose and fell. It was a strange and stormy night--murky and chilly--while at intervals the cold rain dashed down in cutting blasts. But within the magnificent mansion of Gaultier de Rumilly all was light and loveliness, as has been said. The splendid salons were already thronged, yet crowds of richly-attired guests were constantly arriving. "Ha! Beauchamp, just come?" cried Chateau-Renaud to his friend, as he entered. "By the grace of God, yes!" said the journalist. "What a night!" "What a throng of men and women say rather!" was the reply. "Very true. Who's here?" "Ask who's not here, and your question may be easily answered. All Paris is here! Women of every age and station, and men of all political creeds--Conservatives, Dynastics, Legitimists, Republicans and Communists. Indeed, this soiree seems to me, and I shouldn't wonder if it were designed so to be, a general reunion of the leaders of all the great parties in France, to compare notes and learn the news." "And there is news enough to learn, it would seem. Is M. Dantes here?" "He is, or was, and his beautiful wife, too, the most magnificent woman in Paris. Morrel also is here with his fair bride." "And who is that dark, dignified man in the Turkish costume, around whom the ladies have clustered so inquisitively?" asked the Deputy. "Why, that's the Emir of Algeria, the famous captive of the Duke d'Aumale," was the reply. "What! Abd-el-Kader! How comes he here?" "Oh! as a special favor, I suppose; he has a respite from his sad prison." "What a splendid beard, and what keen black eyes!" "No, his eyes are decidedly gray, but so shaded by his extraordinary lashes that they seem black. They say that he was more distinguished as a scholar, in Algeria, than as a soldier, statesman or priest. In fact, he is as erudite as an Arab can be, and his library, which is contained in two leathern trunks, accompanied him in all his wanderings prior to his submission." "And what think you really induced him to surrender himself?"