"True; and at this moment, for so doing, I am the man most hated by the rabble who supplied those recruits." The men, while thus conversing, had moved slowly on, and were now in front of a large cafe, from the interior of which came the sound of loud bravos and clappings of hands. Lemercier's curiosity was excited. "For what can be that applause?" he said; "let us look in and see." The room was thronged. In the distance, on a small raised platform, stood a girl dressed in faded theatrical finery, making her obeisance to the crowd. "Heavens!" exclaimed Frederic--"can I trust my eyes? Surely that is the once superb Julie: has she been dancing here?" One of the loungers, evidently belonging to the same world as Lemercier, overheard the question and answered politely: "No, Monsieur: she has been reciting verses, and really declaims very well, considering it is not her vocation. She has given us extracts from Victor Hugo and De Musset: and crowned all with a patriotic hymn by Gustave Rameau,--her old lover, if gossip be true." Meanwhile De Mauleon, who at first had glanced over the scene with his usual air of calm and cold indifference, became suddenly struck by the girl's beautiful face, and gazed on it with a look of startled surprise. "Who and what did you say that poor fair creature is, M. Lemercier?" "She is a Mademoiselle Julie Caumartin, and was a very popular _coryphee_. She has hereditary right to be a good dancer, as the daughter of a once more famous ornament of the ballet, _la belle_ Leonie --whom you must have seen in your young days." "Of course. Leonie--she married a M. Surville, a silly _bourgeois gentilhomme_, who earned the hatred of Paris by taking her off the stage. So that is her daughter I see no likeness to her mother--much handsomer. Why does she call herself Caumartin?" "Oh," said Frederic, "a melancholy but trite story." "Leonie was left a widow, and died in want. What could the poor young daughter do? She found a rich protector, who had influence to get her an appointment in the ballet: and there she did as most girls so circumstanced do--appeared under an assumed name, which she has since kept." "I understand," said Victor, compassionately. "Poor thing! she has quitted the platform, and is coming this way, evidently to speak to you. I saw her eyes brighten as she caught sight of your face." Lemercier attempted a languid air of modest self-complacency as the girl now approached him. "_Bonjour_, M. Frederic! Ah, mon Dieu! how thin you have grown! You have been ill?" "The hardships of a military life, Mademoiselle. Ah, for the _beaux fours_ and the peace we insisted on destroying under the Empire which we destroyed for listening to us! But you thrive well, I trust. I have seen you better dressed, but never in greater beauty." The girl blushed as she replied, "Do you really think as you speak?" "I could not speak more sincerely if I lived in the legendary House of Glass."