The man foresaw clouds in the horizon, over one he now loved as a dear sister; for, with all Tremenhere's worth, no one could be blind to his unconquered passion--jealousy, which only lay still to gain strength, and rise, like a giant refreshed from slumber, to overwhelm all. Marmaduke Burton was gone abroad, no one knew whither, "on a tour." Dalby was a resident in town. Mary Burns was established in a small business for fancy work; her poor mother no longer burthened her--she slept in the quiet home, alike for rich and poor. And thus all stood on the day Minnie and Tremenhere started for Paris, where he had many friends to forward his views as an artist; moreover, he had orders from friends at home, and all seemed to smile on them as they quitted their native land. "And now, Minnie," he said, tenderly embracing her, "no more care. I will banish all, and begin anew our life of love, and the labour of love I have sadly neglected, though not forgotten. My poor mother--I must toil for you both, darling, now, and for _our child_, my Minnie, for I should indeed wish it to see the light in my lawful home; I will try so to have it." CHAPTER VIII. Assuredly there is something very exhilarating in the air of Paris, when compared with our heavier, smoky atmosphere; this, and a complete removal from painful scenes, were all sufficient causes for the change in Tremenhere and Minnie. They seemed indeed to have commenced a new life; all annoyances had ceased, her colour had returned, the frown had quitted his brow, the past seemed like a dream, as his confidence was restored, and not unfrequently he laughed with her, over those reasonless fears which had once agonized him so much. Many of their mornings were passed in the Louvre together, he copying the old masters, or the glowing sunset pictures in the Spanish gallery; whilst she sat beside him, either talking, reading, or working, and thus two very happy months passed, and Christmas drew nigh. They were residing in an apartment, not far from the Louvre, in one of the principal streets, _Au Troisième_, where he found a room admirably adapted for him, having been used as a studio. _Au Troisième_ seems a frightful height to English ears; nevertheless, to the many who are acquainted with Paris, it has nothing extraordinary.