The 29th of February, 1824, was a Sunday, and a fÊte day. At that time the Carnival was in full blast, and the streets were crowded with curious spectators. A carriage drew up before a fashionable restaurant in the Palais Royal. The carriage was driven by a coachman wearing a powdered wig, and the horses were magnificent. Three young men with cigars in their mouths descended from the carriage, and took the path that led to the garden.

They were wrapped in Venetian cloaks and each wore on his shoulder knots of ribbon, different in hue, and each concealed his face under a white satin mask, to which mask the police made no objection, as it was a sign of high birth and nobility.

These young men laughed when they found they were to pass through a double row of spectators, to whose jokes they replied in kind.

Lights were beginning to twinkle among the trees when they established themselves at a table in the cafÉ.

"I am thankful to say," exclaimed one of the young men, "that the Carnival is nearly over."

"Fernando is right," said one of the two others. "We have been out now for two hours, and we have not had the smallest adventure."

"Pshaw!" answered the third youth, who was called Arthur by his friends, "we have a long evening before us, and it would be odd if we did not find some excitement and could not create a little scandal!"

Of these three young men one was named Arthur de Montferrand; his father had made himself a name in the Chamber of Peers by defending the assassins of Marshal Brune; the other, Gaston de Ferrette, was a great duelist, although not more than twenty-four, and belonged to the best blood in France.

The third was less known in Paris. He was an Italian who was traveling in France. His name was Fernando de Vellebri. He came with letters from princes and ambassadors, which opened to him the first hÔtels in the Faubourg. This was the time when the word "dandy" began to be used, and these three aspired to the title.

"Where is Frederic?" said one. "Would he fail us now?"

"Of course not. Besides, he wrote to me to say that he was to go with Mademoiselle de Salves to witness some ceremony at Notre Dame!"

"Poor Frederic!"

"He is not so much to be pitied, if you please, for Mademoiselle de Salves is a most charming person."

"But does he love her? That is the question."

"It seems to me that you take a great deal of interest in my private affairs, gentlemen!" said a clear voice behind them.

"Frederic! Frederic, at last!"

"Yes, Frederic, who has been listening to you for some minutes, and who thinks you a little venturesome in your remarks."

He whom these young men greeted as Frederic wore no mask. His costume was what in 1824 was regarded as the height of elegance. His friends looked at him with admiration and envy, audibly regretting that they had appeared in mask and costume.

"Then go and take them off," said Frederic. "I will wait for you here, or, better still, you may stop for me an hour later at the Mille Colonnes."

Frederic was left alone. He was a youth of about twenty, but looked older. Heavy brows shaded deep-set eyes, his shoulders were square, with a slight deformity of the spine. His name was Frederic de Talizac.

Ten years had elapsed since the son of Magdalena scorned and insulted France. We shall soon discover if the man fulfilled the promise of his childhood.

The Vicomte left the rotunda, and putting up his eyeglasses, began to examine the crowd in the garden.

The Palais Royal was at that time the central point of Paris, and served as a rendezvous for everybody. Each cafÉ had its special customers. The Bonapartists went to one, foreigners to another—the Mille Colonnes—speculators to the CafÉ de Fois, and so on. The CafÉ de Valois was frequented by military men, the survivors of the great Revolution, and it was also believed that it was a resort of the Republicans. Wonder was frequently expressed that the police had not suppressed this scandal. It was toward this cafÉ that the Vicomte now took his way. Hardly had he passed the gallery than he was attracted by a group of young men earnestly conversing together. Frederic watched them a moment, and then went up to them. He touched one of the men on his shoulder, saying:

"Will you grant me a few minutes' conversation, sir?"

The young man to whom this question was addressed was about twenty-five. His regular features indicated great determination. He looked at Talizac for a moment, and then replied, very coldly:

"I am at your service, sir."

The two men then walked into an almost deserted street.

"I first wish to know your name," said the Vicomte. "I am Frederic de Talizac."

"As I am well aware."

"And I wish to know your name that I may know also, if I am to speak to you as to a gentleman, or strike you as I would a lacquey."

The young man turned very pale, but with a calmness that was absolutely terrifying under the circumstances, he replied:

"There can be nothing in common between us two."

"I am to marry Mademoiselle de Salves in a month," said Talizac, between his close shut teeth. "Yesterday, at noon, you had the impertinence, when riding past her mother's hÔtel, to throw a bouquet over the garden wall."

"Well?"

"You probably have excellent reasons for concealing your name, but I give you fair warning that if you are again guilty of similar conduct, that your chastisement will be swift and sure!"

The Vicomte stopped short, for the young man grasped him by the wrist with such strength that Frederic caught his breath in pain.

The stranger spoke in a low, calm voice.

"You have insulted me—wait!"

He turned and called to his friends.

"Gentlemen," he said, "this man has insulted me. Shall I fight him? He is the Vicomte de Talizac."

One of the friends, who wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honor, replied:

"You cannot fight with a Talizac!"

The Vicomte uttered a cry of rage, but the other still held him firmly.

"You see," he said, "we do not fight with people whom we do not respect. If you do not understand me, apply to your father for an explanation—he will give it to you. The day may come when you may have an opportunity of killing me—if you can. Now go—return to your shameful pleasures!"

With features convulsed with rage the Vicomte, unable to speak, drew from his pocket a handful of cards, and flung them into the face of the unknown, who started forward, but one of his friends laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"You do not belong to yourself!" he said, warningly.

Talizac disappeared. As he was hurrying on, blind with anger, a voice cried:

"Is this the way you keep your appointments?"

It was the Italian, Fernando de Vellebri. He added, with a wink:

"You ought to have killed that fellow. You know him?"

"Very little."

"He was concerned in that affair at Tivoli. You will tell me about it."

The tone which the Italian employed was not pleasing to Frederic, who, glad to have found a new adversary, answered quickly:

"I suppose you mean that I can tell you, if I choose. You seem to give me orders."

"Suppose we sit down." And the Italian pointed to two chairs which were unoccupied. He seated himself at once.

"My dear Vicomte," he said, serenely, "it seems to me that, situated as we are, there should be no misunderstanding or quarrel between us."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean what you seem to have forgotten, that yesterday, in a moment of absent-mindedness, you signed a certain paper with a name that was not your own."

The Vicomte turned very pale.

"How did you know this?" he stammered.

The Italian took out an elegant little pocketbook.

"Here it is," he said, opening a paper bearing the royal mark.

"But how did it come into your hands?"

"In a very simple way—I bought it."

"You—and for what reason?"

"Can you not suppose that my only motive was to render you a service?"

The Vicomte shrugged his shoulders.

"You are right," answered Fernando, in reply to this mute protest. "I have another reason. I do not wish the Vicomte de Talizac to come to grief because my fortune is intimately connected with his—because his father, the Marquis de Fongereues, has rendered and will render great services to a cause that is mine. You must promise me to be guilty of no more imprudences like this."

"Do you mean to give me that paper?"

"No, it is not altogether mine; those who retain an interest in it can alone surrender it to you."

"And who are those persons?"

"Friends, defenders of the Monarchy and of Religion. But we will say no more on this trifle now. I merely wished to prove to you that I had a right to your confidence. Resume your story, and tell me why you hate this man whom you just now provoked."

This trifle, as the Italian called it, could place the Vicomte at the criminals' bar, as both men well knew, but Frederic deemed it advisable not to insist. He suspected the truth, and had long since decided that the Italian belonged to the mysterious association. It was enough for him that the danger was momentarily averted.

"Very well," said Talizac, "you were speaking of Tivoli. The crowd was very great at the fÊte, the fireworks were going on, at that moment the king's arms were exhibited. Suddenly there was a grand excitement; part of the scaffolding gave way. Mademoiselle de Salves in her fright dropped my arm and began to run. I saw a great timber falling and believed she was lost. I could not reach her. A man emerged from the crowd, and with incredible strength seized this timber and eased it to the ground. She fainted, and when the crowd permitted me to reach her side, this young man was holding her in his arms. She opened her eyes, and I am certain that this man was no stranger to her. When, however, we all gathered about her, the unknown bowed respectfully and vanished. I noticed, however, that this romantic cavalier carried away with him a ribbon from the dress of the young lady—only a ribbon. I told IrÈne of this impertinence; she did not even condescend to answer me."

"But the Paladin did not long content himself with this silent homage, I presume?"

"Women are idiots, you know, and this man now passes IrÈne's windows daily, and even throws flowers over the garden wall; and this woman, who is to be my wife, stands behind the curtain and watches for his coming. This my own eyes have seen, and I have come to the conclusion that it has gone on long enough—"

"Ah! and you wish to get rid of this gallant. The matter ought to be easy enough."

"Yes, one would think so. I have kept my valet on the watch, and discovered that he came every day to the CafÉ de Valois at this hour—"

"My dear Talizac, I can put an end to all your difficulties. If Mademoiselle de Salves has built up a pretty romance, I can banish her dreams by telling her the name of her lover. Your rival, my dear fellow, is or was rather, a mountebank, and his name is Fanfar."

The Vicomte laughed long and loud.

"Upon my word!" he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak, "I should have made a fool of myself, had I fought a duel with the fellow! But do the men who are with him know who he is?"

"Certainly. They know perfectly well. And yet shake hands with him! They call him their friend."

The Italian could stand no more of this. He rose from his chair. "Come," he said, "this is the Carnival, let us end the day merrily."

"I should be only too glad to do so," was the Vicomte's reply, "anything to make me forget the disagreeable scene with that man!"

The Vicomte called the contumely heaped on his father's name and his own, "a disagreeable scene."

The two young men sauntered across the garden. Just as they reached the fountain, Frederic stopped.

"What is it?" asked the Italian.

A young girl was singing to a guitar. A curious crowd had gathered about her. She was a pretty creature; her brown curls were covered by a handkerchief of white wool, her face was perfect in shape and in coloring, her eyes were dark—gay, but at the same time innocent.

She accompanied herself on a guitar as she sang, and her voice was so delicious that the crowd clamored for more. The girl bowed her thanks, and extended the back of her guitar for money. She colored deeply as she did so. When she reached Frederic, he said, in a whisper, as he laid a gold piece on the instrument, "You are alone to-day."

She started, looked up quickly, and passed on.

"The 'Marquise' is in a lofty mood," said the Italian, stooping as he spoke, and picking the gold piece from the ground. "Take it, Vicomte, it is yours, since she would have none of it."

Frederic uttered a sullen oath.

"And this has been going on for two months!" Fernando laughed, as he stated this as a fact, "and every day the Marquise—by the way, why is she called by that name!—repels the homage of the Vicomte!"

"Do you spend all your time watching me, Fernando? Take care, patience has its limits!"

"I am glad to hear it. You bear too much from this girl!"

Frederic caught his arm. "Listen to me, Fernando, my brain reels with mad projects. Help me to avenge myself on Fanfar—help me to carry off this girl, and I belong to you, body and soul!"

"Well said!" answered the Italian, "as the bargain is concluded, suppose we go to dinner?"

"But this girl?"

"We will talk of her to-night, and I am quite sure you will have no reason to complain of me!"