ess; but he followed the changing fortunes of her health with an
interest too deep and earnest to be mistaken for mere compassion. Such,
then, was her sad condition when they repaired to Paris, and, in one of
the most spacious hotels of the Rue Richelieu, established their "Bank
of Rouge et Noir." This costly establishment vied in luxury and splendor
with the most extravagant of those existing in the time of the Empire.
All that fastidious refinement and taste could assemble, in objects
of art and _virtu_, graced the _salons_. The cookery, the wines, the
service of the different menials, rivalled the proudest households of
the nobility.

A difficult etiquette restricted the admission to persons of
acknowledged rank and station, and even these were banded together by
the secret tie of a political purpose, for it was now the eve of
that great convulsion which was to open once more in Europe the dread
conflict between the masses and the few.

While Linton engaged deep in play, and still deeper in politics, "making
his book," as he called it, "to win with whatever horse he pleased,"
one dreadful heartsore never left him: this was Keane, whose presence
continually reminded him of the past, and brought up besides many a
dread for the future.

It would have been easy at any moment for Linton to have disembarrassed
himself of the man by a sum of money; but then came the reflection,
"What is to happen when, with exhausted means and dissolute habits, this
fellow shall find himself in some foreign country? Is he not likely, in
a moment of reckless despair, to reveal the whole story of our guilt?
Can I even trust him in hours of convivial abandonment and debauch?
Vengeance may, at any instant, overrule in such a nature the love of
life,--remorse may seize upon him. He is a Romanist, and may confess
the murder, and be moved by his priest to bring home the guilt to
the Protestant." Such were the motives which Linton never ceased
to speculate on and think over, always reverting to the one same
conviction, that he must keep the man close to his person, until the
hour might come when he could rid himself of him forever.

The insolent demeanor of the fellow; his ruffian assurance, the evidence
of a power that he might wield at will--became at last intolerable.
Linton saw this "shadow on his path" wherever he wandered. The evil
was insupportable from the very fact that it occupied his thoughts when
great and momentous events required