ushed into the room, panting: 'Mademoiselle
Pauline! Mademoiselle Pauline! They have just shot our Monsieur
Rudolf and carried him off.' I wanted to fly down, he forcibly
prevented me. I tried to throw myself out of the window, he would not
permit it. I was obliged to wait until morning. Then I ran to the
morgue, to the cemeteries, wherever corpses were exposed; I saw many,
oh, a horrible number of them, but I did not find you."

She had blanched to the lips as she spoke, and her eyes looked vacant.
Rudolf drew her toward him and she unconsciously let her head sink upon
his shoulder.

"I was sure that you were dead," she went on, "and that you had been
flung into this common grave. Everybody whom I asked told me so. And
you sent no message? Why not, if you were still in the Hotel Dieu?
Were you not allowed to do so? Were you unconscious?"

"Both, my poor child. For several days I was so ill that I could form
no distinct thoughts. When I grew better, I was placed under rigid
surveillance, for they suspected me of having fought on the barricades.
I was compelled to communicate with my ambassador that he might give
information about me, and answer----"

"But if you could communicate with your ambassador, you could also have
sent me----"

He made no answer.

"And then you were cured," she went on more urgently, "and during these
long, long years, did it never enter your mind to care for me?"

He hung his head in embarrassment, and with deep pain avoided the
glance she fixed upon him. Why had he not written to her, why had he
not returned to his lodgings when he left the hospital? He could not
yet tell her the truth, not now, not here. Shame and repentance seized
him when he thought of it now; simply because he was glad to be able to
leave Paris without seeing Pauline again.

It was the old story, which ever remains new. A young student in Paris
meets a pretty young working-girl, who is alone in the world; they are
pleased with each other, the girl willingly throws herself into the
young man's arms, and these arms gladly clasp the affectionate young
creature who nestles in them. Under favourable circumstances, this
careless, happy relation lasts a year or two, then comes the time when
the student has completed his studies and practical life claims him.
Farewell to the delightful love-life, with no care for the future, no
responsibility! Farewell to the dove-like nest for two in an attic
chamber fi