"No, no,--the cruel man who talked him into it--into all that has changed
the best workman, the kindest heart--the--the--" again her voice died in
sobs.

"And who was that man?" asked De Mauleon, falteringly.

"His name was Lebeau. If you were a poor man, I should say 'Shun him.'"

"I have heard of the name you mention; but if we mean the same person,
Monnier cannot have met him lately. He has not been in Paris since the
siege."

"I suppose not, the coward! He ruined us--us who were so happy before;
and then, as Armand says, cast us away as instruments he had done with.
But--but if you do know him, and do see him again, tell him--tell him
not to complete his wrong--not to bring murder on Armand's soul. For
Armand isn't what he was--and has become, oh, so violent! I dare not
take this money without saying who gave it. He would not take money as
alms from an aristocrat. Hush! he beat me for taking money from the good
Monsieur Raoul de Vandemar--my poor Armand beat me!"

De Mauleon shuddered. "Say that it is from a customer whose rooms he
decorated in his spare hours on his own account before the strike,--
Monsieur --------;" here he uttered indistinctly some unpronounceable
name and hurried off, soon lost as the streets grew darker. Amid groups
of a higher order of men-military men, nobles, _ci-devant_ deputies--
among such ones his name stood very high. Not only his bravery in the
recent sorties had been signal, but a strong belief in his military
talents had become prevalent; and conjoined with the name he had before
established as a political writer, and the remembrance of the vigour and