nwhile, the baron threw himself into his chariot--the most
comfortable, easy chariot you can possibly conceive, single man's
chariot, perfect taste,--no married man ever had such a chariot; and in
a few minutes he was at ---------'s hotel, and in the presence of Giulio
Franzini, Count di Peschiera.

"Mon cher," said the baron, in very good French, and in a tone of the
most familiar equality with the descendant of the princes and heroes of
grand medieval Italy,--"mon cher, give me one of your excellent cigars.
I think I have put all matters in train."

"You have found out--"

"No; not so fast yet," said the baron, lighting the cigar extended to
him. "But you said that you should be perfectly contented if it only
cost you L20,000 to marry off your sister (to whom that sum is legally
due), and to marry yourself to the heiress."

"I did, indeed."

"Then I have no doubt I shall manage both objects for that sum, if
Randal Leslie really knows where the young lady is, and can assist you.
Most promising, able man is Randal Leslie--but innocent as a babe just
born."

"Ha, ha! Innocent? Que diable!"

"Innocent as this cigar, mon cher,--strong certainly, but smoked very
easily. Soyez tranquille!"

CHAPTER XV.

Who has not seen, who not admired, that noble picture by Daniel Maclise,
which refreshes the immortal name of my ancestor Caxton! For myself,
while with national pride I heard the admiring murmurs of the foreigners
who grouped around it (nothing, indeed, of which our nation may be more
proud had they seen in the Crystal Palace),--heard, with no less a pride
in the generous nature of fellow-artists, the warm applause of living
and deathless masters sanctioning the enthusiasm of the popular crowd,
what struck me more than the precision of drawing, for which the artist
has been always renowned, and the just, though gorgeous affluence of
colour which he has more recently acquired, was the profound depth of
conception, out of which this great work had so elaborately arisen. That
monk, with his scowl towards the printer and his back on the Bible over
which his form casts a shadow--the whole transition between the medieval
Christianity of cell and cloister, and the modern Christianity that
rejoices in the daylight, is depicted there, in the shadow that obscures
the Book, in the scowl that is fixed upon the Book-diffuser;--that
sombre, musing face of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, with the beauty
of Napoleon, darkened