nce with her brother,' said Sidonia. 'My family will guard
over her. She will enjoy her brother's society until I commence my
travels. He will then accompany me.'

It is nearly twenty years since these incidents occurred, and perhaps
the reader may feel not altogether uninterested in the subsequent fate
of the children of Baroni. Mademoiselle Josephine is at this moment
the glory of the French stage; without any question the most admirable
tragic actress since Clairon, and inferior not even to her. The spirit
of French tragedy has risen from the imperial couch on which it had
long slumbered since her appearance, at the same time classical and
impassioned, at once charmed and commanded the most refined audience
in Europe. Adele, under the name of Madame Baroni, is the acknowledged
Queen of Song in London, Paris, Berlin, and St. Petersburg; while her
younger sister, Carlotta Baroni, shares the triumphs, and equals the
renown, of a Taglioni and a Cerito. At this moment, Madame Baroni
performs to enthusiastic audiences in the first opera of her brother
Michel, who promises to be the rival of Meyerbeer and Mendelssohn; all
delightful intelligence to meet the ear of the soft-hearted Alfred, who
is painting the new chambers of the Papal palace, a Cavaliere, decorated
with many orders, and the restorer of the once famous Roman school.

'Thus,' continued Baroni to Tancred, 'we have all succeeded in
life because we fell across a great philosopher, who studied our
predisposition. As for myself, I told M. de Sidonia that I wished to
travel and to be unknown, and so he made of me a secret agent.'

'There is something most interesting,' said Tancred, 'in this idea of
a single family issuing from obscurity, and disseminating their genius
through the world, charming mankind with so many spells. How fortunate
for you all that Sidonia had so much feeling for genius!'

'And some feeling for his race,' said Baroni.

'How?' said Tancred, startled.

'You remember he whispered something in my father's ear?'

'I remember.'

'He spoke it in Hebrew, and he was understood.'

'You do not mean that you, too, are Jews?'

'Pure Sephardim, in nature and in name.'

'But your name surely is Italian?'

'Good Arabic, my lord. Baroni; that is, the son of Aaron; the name of
old clothesmen in London, and of caliphs at Bagdad.'

CHAPTER XLI.

_The Mountains of Lebanon_

HOW do you like my forest?' asked Fakredeen of Tancred, as, w