th its musketeers?
Oh, but the days they shall lengthen to years
Ere I return o'er these pathless seas,
Carried wherever the Pilot steers!
And where are the belles of the balconies?_

"_Prince, where is the tavern's light that cheers?
Where is La Place with its musketeers,
Golden nights and the May-time breeze?
And where are the belles of the balconies?_"

"That will do very well," was the Chevalier's comment. His thought was
carried back, even as the poet's, to La Place Royale. "Read the whole
of it, even if it be in the rough. It will divert me." And,
listening, he watched his garments swinging to and fro from the hook,
particularly the grey cloak. It held a strange fascination.

"Monsieur improves constantly," observed Breton, soberly.

Victor laughed, and began explaining the difficulty of constructing a
ballade of double refrain, when a hand fell upon the door.

"Enter," called the Chevalier, listlessly.

The door opened and the vicomte came in. Great good nature beamed from
his countenance. His strong white teeth displayed themselves in a
smile.

"And how are you this morning, Chevalier?" he inquired.

"Only a little more thickness to my blood," returned the Chevalier,
smiling with equal good nature, "and I shall be able to stand up and
look into your eyes. Help yourself to a stool. It is good to be ill
once in a while, if only to test one's friendships. I am feeling
vastly better. Let me thank you for your kindness during the crisis."

"Don't speak of it, Chevalier. It is with great happiness that I see
you on the highway to complete recovery. There was a time when we
feared for you." The vicomte took advantage of the Chevalier's
courtesy and drew forward the remaining stool. "I would that you were
well enough to take part in the bouts this afternoon. I was in the
Academy that morning when you disarmed Comminges. La! but the
lieutenant was a most surprised man when his sword went rolling to the
mat."

"It was merely an accident, Vicomte," deprecatingly. "Monsieur de
Comminges slipped, and I took advantage of his mishap, which I should
not have done."

Victor's eyebrows arched. He had witnessed the match, and knew that
the Chevalier had executed an amazing stroke.

"You are too modest, Chevalier," replied the vicomte. "I learn that
you have entered the bouts, my poet. I tried to interest D'Herouville,
but he declined. He goes about like a moping owl, watch