On the 29th of February, 1824, a great crowd of laughing, noisy people wandered up and down the streets of the French capital, for it was the last Sunday of the carnival; the boulevards in the neighborhood of the Palais-Royal especially being packed with promenaders of both sexes.

An elegant carriage drawn by two thoroughbreds halted at the edge of the pavement, and three young men got out. They had cigars in their mouths, which at that time was something extraordinary; white satin masks hid their faces, and dark (so-called) Venetian mantles, with many colored bands on their shoulders, covered their forms.

The young men answered the jokes and guys of the crowd in a jolly manner, and then took seats in the Cafe de la Rotonde. Darkness came on, the lights gleamed, and one of the young men said, sorrowfully:

"The carnival is coming to an end; it's a great pity—we had such fun."

"Fernando, are you getting melancholy?" laughed the second young man.

"Fernando is right," remarked the third; "the last day of the carnival is so dull and spiritless that one can plainly see it is nearing the end. For more than two hours we have been strolling about the boulevards, but have not met with one adventure. Everywhere the stereotyped faces and masks; the same jokes as last year; even the coffee and the cake look stale to me. Arthur, don't you agree with me?"

"You demand too much," cried Arthur, indifferently; "we still have the night before us, and it would not be good if we could not find something to make the hours fly. As a last resort we could get up a scandal."

"Hush! that smells of treason. The dear mob nowadays is not so easy to lead, and the police might take a hand in the fight," warned Fernando.

"So much the better; the scandal would be complete then. The police are naturally on our side, and our motto—'after us the deluge'—has always brought us luck."

The young men laughed loudly. They were evidently in good humor. The one whom his companions called Arthur was the son of the Count of Montferrand, who made a name for himself in the House of Deputies on account of his great speech in favor of the murderers of Marshal Brune; the second, Gaston de Ferrette, was related to the first families of the kingdom; he had accompanied the Duke of AngoulÊme to Spain, and was known as an expert fencer. He was hardly twenty years of age, but had already come out victorious in several duels.

The third young man was a foreigner, but having the very best recommendations he was soon at home in the capital. His name was Fernando de Velletri, and he was by birth an Italian of the old nobility; he was received in all the palaces of the Faubourg St. Germain, and was acquainted with everything that went on in the great world.

"Where is Frederic?" asked Arthur now.

"Really, he seems to have forgotten us," replied Fernando, "I cannot understand what delays him so long."

"Stop!" exclaimed Gaston de Ferrette. "Come to think of it, I understand that he was going to accompany the Countess of Salves to some ceremony at Notre Dame."

"Poor fellow!"

"He is not to be pitied. The Countess of Salves is a charming girl."

"Bah, she is going to become his wife."

"So much the more reason that he should love her before the marriage; afterward, it isn't considered good form to have such feelings."

"He loves her, then?"

"I am very grateful to you, gentlemen; even in my absence you occupy yourselves with my affairs," said a clear, sharp voice now.

"Frederic, at last; where have you been?"

"Oh, I have been standing over five minutes behind you, and heard your conversation."

"Has it insulted you?" asked Gaston, laughing.

Frederic did not answer immediately; he let his gaze fall pityingly over his companion, and Gaston hastily said:

"Really, Frederic, your splendor throws us in the shade; look at him, he has no mask, and is dressed after the latest fashion."

The costume of the last comer was, indeed, much more elegant than those of the other young men. A long overcoat, made of fine brown cloth, sat tightly about the body and reached to the knees; the sleeves, wide at the shoulder, narrowed down toward the wrists and formed cuffs, which fell over the gloved hand. A white satin handkerchief peeped out coquettishly from the left breast pocket. White trousers, of the finest cloth, reached to the soles of his shoes, which were pointed and spurred. A tall, silk hat, with an almost invisible brim, covered his head.

Frederic allowed himself to be admired by his friends, and then said:

"Take my advice and put off your masks at once, and dress yourselves as becomes young noblemen; let the mob run around with masks on."

"Frederic is right," said Gaston, "let us hurry to do so."

"I shall await you here and bring you then to Robert; or better still, you can meet me at the Cafe Valois."

The three masks left, and the Vicomte Talizac, for he was the last comer, remained alone.

His external appearance was very unsympathetic. The sharply-cut face had a disagreeable expression, the squinting eyes and rolling look were likewise repulsive, and if his back was not as much bent as usual, it was due to the art of Bernard, the tailor of the dandies.

The Cafe de Valois, toward which the vicomte was now going, was generally the meeting-place of old soldiers, and the dandies called it mockingly the cafe of the grayheads. Rumor had it that it was really the meeting-place of republicans, and it was a matter of surprise why Delevan, the head of the police department, never took any notice of these rumors.

When the vicomte entered the gallery of the cafe, he looked observingly about him, and then approached a group of young men who all wore plain black clothing and whose manners were somewhat military.

The young men moved backward at both sides when the vicomte approached them. Not one of them gazed at the dandy. The latter, however, stepped up to one of them, and laying his hand lightly upon his shoulder, said:

"Sir, can I see you for a moment?"

The person addressed, a man about twenty-five years of age with classically formed features, turned hurriedly around; seeing the vicomte, he said in a cold voice:

"I am at your service, sir."

The vicomte walked toward the street and the man followed. On a deserted corner they both stopped, and the vicomte began:

"Monsieur, first I must ask you to tell me your name; I am the Vicomte de Talizac."

"I know it," replied the young man coldly.

"So much the better; as soon as I know who you are I will be able to tell whether I should speak to you as an equal or punish you as a lackey."

The young man grew pale but he replied with indomitable courage:

"I don't know what we two could ever have in common."

"Sir!" exclaimed Talizac angrily, "in a month I shall lead the Countess de Salves to the altar; therefore it will not surprise you if I stigmatize your conduct as outrageous. You rode to-day at noon past the De Salves palace, and threw a bouquet over the wall and into the garden."

"Well, what else?"

"You have probably good reasons not to give your name, the name of an adventurer, but in spite of all I must inform you that in case you repeat the scene I shall be obliged to punish you. I—"

The vicomte was unable to proceed; the iron fist of the young man was laid upon his shoulder, and so powerful was the pressure of his hand that the vicomte was hardly able to keep himself on his feet. The young man gave a whistle, upon which signal the friends who had followed him hurried up. When they were near by, Talizac's opponent said:

"Vicomte, before I provoke a scene, I wish to lay the matter before my friends; have patience for a moment. Gentlemen," he said, turning to his companions, "this man insulted me. Shall I fight a duel with him? It is the Vicomte de Talizac."

"The Vicomte de Talizac?" replied one of the men addressed, who wore the cross of the Legion of Honor. "With a Talizac one does not fight duels."

The vicomte uttered a hoarse cry of rage, and turned under the iron fist which was still pressed on his shoulder and held him tight; the young man gave him a look which made his cowardly heart quake, and earnestly said:

"Vicomte, we only fight with people we honor. If you do not understand my words, ask your father the meaning of them; he can give you the necessary explanations. Perhaps a day may come when I myself may not refuse to oppose you, and then you may kill me if you are able to do so! I have told you now what you ought to know, and now go and look up your dissipated companions, and take your presence out of the society of respectable people."

Wild with rage, his features horribly distorted, unable to utter a word, the Vicomte de Talizac put his hand in his pocket, and threw a pack of cards at his opponent's face. The young man was about to rush upon the nobleman, but one of his companions seized his arm and whispered:

"Don't be too hasty, you must not put your life and liberty at stake just now—you are not your own master;" saying which, he pointed to three masked faces who had just approached the group.

The young man shook his head affirmatively, and Talizac took advantage of this to disappear. He had hardly gone a few steps, when an arm was thrown under his own and a laughing voice exclaimed:

"You are punctual, vicomte; your friends can vouch for that."

The vicomte kept silent, and Fernando, lowering his voice, continued:

"What was the difficulty between you and the young man? You wanted to kill him. Are you acquainted with him?"

"No, I hardly know him; you overheard us?"

"Excuse me, my dear fellow; your opponent spoke so loudly that we were not obliged to exert ourselves to hear his estimate of you. Anyhow I only heard the conclusion of the affair; you will no doubt take pleasure in relating the commencement to me!"

The words, and the tone in which they had been said, wounded Talizac's self-love, and he sharply replied:

"If it pleases me, Signor Velletri!"

The Italian laughed, and then said, in an indifferent tone:

"My dear vicomte, in the position in which you find yourself, it would be madness for me to imagine that you intend to insult me, and therefore I do not consider your words as spoken."

"What do you mean, signor?"

"Oh, nothing, except that yesterday was the day of presentation for a certain paper, which you, in a fit of abstraction, no doubt, signed with another name than your own!"

The vicomte grew pale, and he mechanically clinched his fist.

"How—do—you—know—this?" he finally stammered.

The Italian drew an elegant portfolio from his pocket, and took a piece of stamped paper from it.

"Here is the corpus delicti," he said, laughing.

"But how did it get into your hands?"

"Oh, in a very simple way: I bought and paid for it."

"You, signor? For what purpose?"

"Could it not be for the purpose of doing you a service?"

The vicomte shrugged his shoulders; he had no faith in his fellow-men.

"You are right," said Fernando, replying to the dumb protest, "I will be truthful with you. I would not want the Vicomte de Talizac to go under, because my fate is closely attached to his, and because the vicomte's father, the Marquis de Fougereuse, has done great service for the cause I serve. Therefore if I earnestly ask you not to commit such follies any more, you will thank me for it and acknowledge that this small reciprocation is worth the favor I am showing you."

"Then you will return the paper to me?" cried the vicomte, stretching out his hand for it.

"No, the paper does not belong to me."

"But you just said—"

"That I bought it, certainly. I paid the price for it only because I received the amount from several friends."

"And these friends—"

"Are the defenders and supporters of the monarchy; they will not harm you."

Talizac became pensive.

"Let us not speak about the matter," continued Fernando; "I only wished to show you that I have a right to ask your confidence, and I believe you will no longer look upon it as idle curiosity if I ask you what business you had with that man."

The Italian's words confirmed to Talizac the opinion of the world that Velletri was a tool of the Jesuits. However, he had done him a great service, and he no longer hesitated to inform Velletri of the occurrence.

"I accompanied the Countess de Salves and her daughter to a party at Tivoli," he began, as he walked slowly along with his companion, "and we were enjoying ourselves, when suddenly loud cries were heard and the crowd rushed wildly toward the exits. The platform where dancing was indulged in gave way, and the young countess, in affright, let go of my arm and ran into the middle of the crowd. I hurried after her, but could not catch up with her; she was now in the neighborhood of the scene of the accident, and, horror-stricken, I saw a huge plank which hung directly over her head get loose and tumble down. I cried aloud; the plank would crush her to death. At the right minute I saw a man grasp the plank and hold it in the air. How he did it I have never been able to tell; the plank weighed at least several hundred pounds, but he balanced it as if it had been a feather. The young countess had fainted away. When I finally reached her, the young man held her in his arms, and from the way in which she looked at him when she opened her eyes, I at once concluded that that wasn't the first time she had seen him. The old countess thanked him with tears in her eyes; I asked him for his name, for I had to find out first if it were proper for me to speak with him. He gave me no answer, but disappeared in the crowd. The only reward he took was a ribbon which the lady wore on her bosom and which he captured. The ribbon had no intrinsic value, but yet I thought it my duty to inform Irene about it. Do you know what answer she gave me?"

"No," replied Velletri, calmly.

"None at all. She turned her back to me."

"Impossible," observed the Italian, laughing; "well, I suspect that the knight without fear or reproach followed up the thing?"

"He did; he permits himself to ride past the Salves's palace every day, throws flowers over the wall, and I really believe the young countess picks up the flowers and waits at the window until he appears. Should I stand this?"

"No," replied Velletri, laughing; "you must, under all circumstances, get rid of this gallant. For your consolation, I can tell you it is not a difficult job."

"Then you know the man? I sent my servant after him, but could not find out anything further than that he visits the Cafe Valois every day at this hour, and that is the reason I went there to-day."

"Without having been able to accomplish your object. My dear vicomte, I place my experience at your service. The man is no rival, cannot be any; and if the young countess has built any air-castles in her romantic brain, I can give you the means to crumble them to pieces."

"And the means?"

"Simply tell her the name of her admirer."

"Yes; but he didn't mention his name to me."

"That does not surprise me. He was formerly an acrobat, and his name is Fanfaro."

The vicomte laughed boisterously. Fanfaro, a former acrobat, ran after young, noble ladies—it was too comical!

"So that is why the young man did not wish to fight me," he finally cried; "it doesn't surprise me any more, and is cowardly too."

The Italian, who had witnessed the scene in which Fanfaro had refused to cross weapons with a Talizac, laughed maliciously.

"The companions of the former acrobat are, no doubt, ignorant of whom they are dealing with?" asked Talizac.

"On the contrary, they know him well."

"I don't understand it! They speak to him, shake hands with him; it is extraordinary."

The vicomte's stupidity excited the Italian's pity, but he did not allow his feelings to be perceived, and said:

"I think we have discussed this Fanfaro long enough. Let us not forget that we are still in the Carnival, and that we must hurry if we still wish to seek some distraction; forget the fatal scene of a short while ago."

The vicomte had forgotten long ago that he and his father had been stigmatized as dishonorable rogues, and in great good humor he accompanied his companion toward the Rue Vivienne.

They had not gone far when the vicomte paused and nudged his friend.

Leaning against the balustrade of a house, a young girl, whose features were illuminated by the rays of a street lamp, sang in a clear voice to the accompaniment of a guitar. A large crowd of passers-by had assembled around the singer, who was a perfect vision of beauty.

Chestnut brown hair framed a finely cut face, and deep black eyes looked innocently from underneath long eyelashes. The fingers which played on the instrument were long and tapering, and every movement of the body was the personification of grace.

When the song was finished loud applause was heard. The young songstress bowed at all sides, and a flush of pleasure lighted up the charming face. Every one put a penny on the instrument. When the vicomte's turn came, he threw forty francs on the guitar, and approached close to the songstress.

"You are alone to-day?" he boldly asked.

The young girl trembled from head to foot and walked on. The vicomte gazed after her, and the Italian laughingly observed:

"The 'Marquise' is very strict to-day."

Thereupon he bent down and picked something up from the ground.

"Here, vicomte, is your money; the little one threw it away."

The vicomte uttered a cry of rage.

"The impertinent hussy!" he hissed.

"The affair has been going on in this way for the last two months," said the Italian, dryly; "and you could have known long ago, vicomte, that the 'Marquise' spurns your attentions."

"Fernando, I really believe you play the spy upon me!" exclaimed Talizac; "have a care, my patience has its limits."

"You are too tragical," replied Velletri, shrugging his shoulders; "instead of pursuing the little one with platonic declarations, you ought to try to break her spirit."

"Velletri, you are right," replied Talizac; "yes, I will revenge myself upon Fanfaro and possess this girl. What am I peer of France for?"

"Bravo, vicomte, you please me now—let us go to dinner, and then—"

"But the 'Marquise'?"

"Have patience. You will be satisfied with me."