And so the golden opportunity was allowed to escape! Vance lingered for a moment holding her hand, as if to invite her to a further confidence; but she said nothing, and he left the room. Clara opened the music-book at Schubert’s piece, and commenced playing. Vance stopped on the stairs and listened, keeping time approvingly. “Good!” he said. Then telling the little landlady not to interrupt Miss Brown’s studies, he quitted the house, walking in the direction of the hotel. Clara practised till she could play from memory the charming composition commended by Vance. Then she threw herself on the bed and fell asleep. She had not remained thus an hour when there was a knock. Dinner! Mr. Bernard had come in; a dapper little man, so remarkably well satisfied with himself, his wife, and his bill of fare, that he repeatedly had to lay down knife and fork and rub his hands in glee. “Are you related to Mr. Vance?” he asked Clara. “Not at all. He saw me in the street, weary and distressed. The truth is, I had left my home for a good reason. I have no parents, you must consider. He asked me in here. From his looks I judged he was a man to trust. I gladly accepted his invitation.” “Truly he’s a friend in need, Mademoiselle. I saw him do another kind thing to-day.” “What was it?” “It happened only an hour ago in Carondelet Street. A ragged fellow was haranguing a crowd. He spoke on the wrong side,—in short, in favor of the old flag. Some laughed, some hissed, some applauded. Suddenly a party of men, armed with swords and muskets, pushed through the crowd, and seized the speaker. They formed a court, Judge Lynch presiding, under a palmetto. They decided that the vagabond should be hung. He had already been badly pricked in the flank with a bayonet. And now a table was brought out, he was placed on it, and a rope put round his neck and tied to a bough. Decidedly they were going to string him up.” “Good heavens!” cried Clara, who, as the story proceeded, had turned pale and thrust away the plate of food from before her. “Did you make no effort to save him?” “What could I do? They would merely have got another rope, and made me keep him company. Well, the mob were expecting an entertainment. They were about to knock away the table, when Monsieur Vance pushed through the crowd, hauled off the hangman, and, jumping on the table, cut the rope, and lifted the prisoner faint and bleeding to the ground. What a yell from Judge Lynch and the court! Monsieur Vance, his coat and vest all bloody from contact with—” “What a shame!” interposed Mrs. Bernard. “A coat and vest he must have put on clean this morning! So nicely ironed and starched!” “But my story agitates you, Mademoiselle,” said the typesetter. “You look pale.” And the little man, not regarding the inappropriateness of the act, rubbed his hands. “Go on,” replied Clara; and she sipped from a tumbler of cold water.