unconsciously to herself, and the page open before her at an uncompleted
sentence seemed unwelcome and wearisome as a copy-book is to a child
condemned to relinquish a fairy tale half told, and apply himself to a
task half done. She fell again into a revery, when, starting as from a
dream, she heard herself addressed by name, and turning round saw Savarin
and Gustave Rameau in the room.

"We are come, Signorina," said Savarin, "to announce to you a piece of
news, and to hazard a petition. The news is this: my young friend here
has found a Maecenas who has the good taste so to admire his lucubrations
under the _nom de plume_ of Alphonse de Valcour as to volunteer the
expenses for starting a new journal, of which Gustave Rameau is to be
editor-in-chief; and I have promised to assist him as contributor for the
first two months. I have given him notes of introduction to certain
other _feuilletonistes_ and critics whom he has on his list. But all put
together would not serve to float the journal like a short _roman_ from
Madame de Grantmesnil. Knowing your intimacy with that eminent artist, I
venture to back Rameau's supplication that you would exert your influence
on his, behalf. As to the _honoraires_, she has but to name them."

"Carte blanche," cried Rameau, eagerly.

"You know Eulalie too well, Monsieur Savarin," answered Isaura, with a
smile half reproachful, "to suppose that she is a mercenary in letters,
and sells her services to the best bidder."

"Bah, belle enfant!" said Savarin, with his gay light laugh. "Business
is business, and books as well as razors are made to sell. But, of
course, a proper prospectus of the journal must accompany your request to
write in it. Meanwhile Rameau will explain to you, as he has done to me,