, like Ceres
in the hut of the old woman Baubo.

Then, the glass still at her lips:

"Mother," she asked, "do you know when my brother will be back? I have
come to speak to him."

The good woman looked at her daughter in embarrassment and said nothing.

"I must see him. My husband was arrested this morning and taken to the
Luxembourg."

By this name of "husband" she designated Fortune de Chassagne, a
_ci-devant_ noble and officer in Bouille's regiment. He had first loved
her when she was a work-girl at a milliner's in the Rue des Lombards,
and had carried her away with him to England, whither he had fled after
the 10th August. He was her lover; but she thought it more becoming to
speak of him as her husband before her mother. Indeed, she told herself
that the hardships they had shared had surely united them in a wedlock
consecrated by suffering.

More than once they had spent the night side by side on a bench in one
of the London parks and gathered up scraps of broken bread under the
table in the taverns in Piccadilly.

Her mother could find no answer and gazed at her mournfully.

"Don't you hear what I say, mother? Time presses, I must see Evariste
at once; he, and he only, can save Fortune's life."

"Julie," answered her mother at last, "it is better you should not speak
to your brother."

"Why, what do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I say, it is better you do not speak to your brother about
Monsieur de Chassagne."

"But, mother, I must!"

"My child, Evariste can never forgive Monsieur de Chassagne for his
treatment of you. You know how angrily he used to speak of him, what
names he called him."

"Yes, he called him seducer," said Julie with a little hissing laugh,
shrugging her shoulders.

"My child, it was a mortal blow to his pride. Evariste has vowed never
again to mention Monsieur de Chassagne's name, and for two years now he
has not breathed one word of him or of you. But his feelings have not
altered; you know him, he can never forgive you."

"But, mother, as Fortune has married me ... in London...."

The poor mother threw up her eyes and hands:

"Fortune is an aristocrat, an _emigre_, and that is cause enough to make
Evariste treat him as an enemy."

"Mother, give me a direct answer. Do you mean that if I ask him to go to
the Public Prosecutor and the Committee of General Security and take the
necessary steps to save Fortune's life, do you mean that he will not
consent?... But, moth