reet overlooked by some shut-up warehouses, and
from the cellar of one of these a young man crept up on to the pathway.
His dress had once been beautiful, but it was torn and soiled; his face
was beautiful still, but it was marred by the hideous eagerness of a
face on which famine has laid her hand--he was starving. As this man
came out from the warehouse, another man came down the street. His dress
was not beautiful, neither was he. There was a red look about him--he
wore a red flannel cap, tricolor ribbons, and had something red upon his
hands, which was neither ribbon nor flannel. He also looked hungry; but
it was not for food. The other stopped when he saw him, and pulled
something from his pocket. It was a watch, a repeater, in a gold
filigree case of exquisite workmanship, with raised figures depicting
the loves of an Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess; and, as it lay on the
white hand of its owner, it bore an evanescent fragrance that seemed to
recall scenes as beautiful and as completely past as the days of
pastoral perfection, when--

"All the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue."

The young man held it up to the other and spoke.

"It is my mother's," he said, with an appealing glance of violet eyes;
"I would not part with it, but that I am starving. Will you get me
food?"

"You are hiding?" said he of the red cap.

"Is that a crime in these days?" said the other, with a smile that would
in other days have been irresistible.

The man took the watch, shaded the donor's beautiful face with a rough
red cap and tricolor ribbon, and bade him follow him. He, who had but
lately come to Paris, dragged his exhausted body after his conductor,
hardly noticed the crowds in the streets, the signs by which the man got
free passage for them both, or their entrance by a little side-door into
a large dark building, and never knew till he was delivered to one of
the gaolers that he had been led into the prison of the Abbaye. Then
the wretch tore the cap of liberty from his victim's head, and pointed
to him with a fierce laugh.

"He wants food, this aristocrat. He shall not wait long--there is a
feast in the court below, which he shall join presently. See to it,
Antoine! and you _Monsieur_, _Mons-ieur_! listen to the banqueters."

He ceased, and in the silence yells and cries from a court below came up
like some horrid answer to imprecation.

The man continued---

"He has paid for h