daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di
Piombo."

The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra's patriotism as
soon as he saw her.

"You are wounded," she said.

"Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle," he replied; "the wound is healing."

Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came
up from the street: "Condemned to death!" They all trembled, and the
soldier was the first to hear a name that turned him pale.

"Labedoyere!" he cried, falling on a stool.

They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid
forehead of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in
one hand with a gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra's
easel.

"After all," he said, rising abruptly, "Labedoyere and I knew what we
were doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from
triumph or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding
myself!"

He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra
reached it, and barred his way.

"Can you restore the Emperor?" she said. "Do you expect to raise that