person thus quitting the house--the face of a young and handsome man,
dressed with the quiet elegance which betokened one of higher rank or
fashion than that neighbourhood was habituated to find among its
visitors. The first comer retreated promptly into the shade, and,
as by sudden impulse, drew his hat low down over his eyes.

The other man did not, however, observe him, went his way with a quick
step along the street, and entered another house some yards distant.

"What can that pious Bourbonite do here?" muttered the first comer.
"Can he be a conspirator? Diable! 'tis as dark as Erebus on that
staircase."

Taking cautious hold of the banister, the man now ascended the stairs.
On the landing of the first floor there was a gas lamp which threw upward
a faint ray that finally died at the third story. But at that third
story the man's journey ended; he pulled a bell at the door to the right,
and in another moment or so the door was opened by a young woman of
twenty-eight or thirty, dressed very simply, but with a certain neatness
not often seen in the wives of artisans in the Faubourg Montmartre. Her
face, which, though pale and delicate, retained much of the beauty of
youth, became clouded as she recognised the visitor; evidently the visit
was not welcome to her.

"Monsieur Lebeau again!" she exclaimed, shrinking back.

"At your service, _chere dame_. The goodman is of course at home? Ah,
I catch sight of him," and sliding by the woman, M. Lebeau passed the
narrow lobby in which she stood, through the open door conducting into
the room in which Armand Monnier was seated, his chin propped on his