impression left upon the mind is one of intense artistic beauty. GEORGE MOORE. THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. _(LA CURÉE.)_ CHAPTER I. On the return home, the carriage could only move slowly along amidst the mass of vehicles winding round the lake of the Bois de Boulogne. At one moment, the block became such that the horses were even brought to a standstill. The sun was setting in the faint grey October sky, streaked with slender clouds on the horizon. A last ray, which came from above the distant shrubbery of the cascade, streamed across the roadway, bathing the long line of now stationary carriages in a pale ruddy light. The golden glimmers, the bright flashes from the wheels, seemed to have become fixed to the straw-coloured fillets, whilst the dark blue panels of the carriage reflected portions of the surrounding landscape. And, higher up, full in the ruddy light which illumined them from behind, and which gave a sparkle to the brass buttons of their overcoats folded over the back of the box-seat, the coachman and the footman, dressed in a livery consisting of dull blue coats, putty-coloured breeches, and black and yellow-striped waistcoats, sat erect, grave and patient, like well-trained lackeys, whose temper is above being ruffled by a block of vehicles. Their hats, embellished with black cockades, gave them a most dignified appearance. The superb bay horses were alone snorting impatiently. "Hallo!" said Maxime, "there's Laure d'Aurigny over there in that brougham. Look, Renée." Renée raised herself slightly, and, blinking her eyes with that exquisite pout which was caused by the weakness of her sight, said: "I thought she was travelling. She has changed the colour of her hair, has she not?" "Yes," replied Maxime, with a laugh, "her new lover detests everything red." Renée, bent forward, her hand resting on the low door of the carriage, continued looking, awakened from the sad dream which, for an hour past, had kept her silently reclining on the back seat, as though in an invalid's easy-chair. Over a mauve dress with an upper skirt and tunic, and trimmed with broad plaited flounces, she wore a little white cloth jacket with mauve velvet facings, which gave her a very dashing air. Her extraordinary pale fawn-coloured hair, the hue of which recalled that of the finest butter, was scarcely concealed beneath a slender bonnet adorned with a cluster of crimson roses. She continued to blink her eyes, in the style of an impertinent boy, her pure brow crossed by one long wrinkle, her upper lip protruding just like a sulky child's. Then, as she was unable to distinguish very well, she raised her double eye-glass, a regular man's eye-glass with a tortoise-shell frame, and holding it up in her hand without placing it on her nose, she examined stout Laure d'Aurigny at her ease, in a perfectly calm manner.