on
for absinthe young Rameau and the writers of his set add the imitation
of Heine, after, indeed, the manner of caricaturists, who effect a
likeness striking in proportion as it is ugly. It is not easy to imitate
the pathos and the wit of Heine; but it is easy to imitate his defiance
of the Deity, his mockery of right and wrong, his relentless war on that
heroic standard of thought and action which the writers who exalt their
nation intuitively preserve. Rameau cannot be a Heine, but he can be to
Heine what a misshapen snarling dwarf is to a mangled blaspheming Titan.
Yet he interests the women in general, and he evidently interests the
fair Signorina in especial."

Just as Bacourt finished that last sentence, Isaura lifted the head
which had hitherto bent in an earnest listening attitude that seemed to
justify the Doctor's remarks, and looked round. Her eyes met Graham's
with the fearless candour which made half the charm of their bright yet
soft intelligence; but she dropped them suddenly with a half-start and
a change of colour, for the expression of Graham's face was unlike that
which she had hitherto seen on it,--it was hard, stern, and somewhat
disdainful. A minute or so afterwards she rose, and in passing across
the room towards the group round the host, paused at a table covered
with books and prints near to which Graham was standing alone. The
Doctor had departed in company with the German Count.

Isaura took up one of the prints.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "Sorrento, my Sorrento. Have you ever visited
Sorrento, Mr. Vane?"

Her question and her movement were evidently in conciliation. Was the
conciliation prompted by coquetry, or by a sentiment more innocent and
artless?

Graham doubted, and replied coldly, as he bent over the print,--

"I once stayed there a few days, but my recollection of it is not
sufficiently lively to enable me to recognize its features in this
design."

"That is the house, at least so they say, of Tasso's father; of course
you visited that?"

"Yes, it was a hotel in my time; I lodged there."

"And I too. There I first read 'The Gerusalemine.'" The last words were
said in Italian, with a low measured tone, inwardly and dreamily.

A somewhat sharp and incisive voice speaking in French here struck
in and prevented Graham's rejoinder: "Quel joli dessin! What is it,
Mademoiselle?"

Graham recoiled; the speaker was Gustave Rameau, who had, unobserved,
first watched Isaura, then rejo