"For myself," she said, "I had no fear after the first shock was over, but it would not be true if I said I had not been apprehensive on your account, who so gallantly exposed yourself to so much danger. I did not think," she continued, with a sweet but mournful smile, "that any one existed who would have taken so much trouble about me. But I owe you double thanks, first, for having saved my life, and in the next place for correcting a false impression-unless, indeed, which is more likelyyour generous act were merely an effect of impulse."

"There is no doubt that the first movement at the sight of danger is a spontaneous effort, and few draw back from what they have once begun, but," said the marquis, "one's exertions, one's anxiety may be increased ten-fold by knowing who the person is one desires to save. I could not have seen you before without remembering you, and who that has once had the happiness of seeing you but would peril life and limb in your service ?"

There was more than mere gallantry in this speech, for though the words were such as any well-bred Frenchman might utter in extricating a lady from a crowd on the Boulevard Italien, an expression in Monsieur de Courtine's eye, and an earnestness in the tone of voice, showed that his feelings had some share in the avowal. Lady Malpas appeared to think so too, for a slight colour rose to her cheek-the first I had yet seen there-but it speedily passed away, and she answered,

“Whatever the cause-and I will speculate no more about it-believe me I am deeply grateful," and she held out her hand, which the marquis raised respectfully to his lips. "But," she continued, turning towards me, "I am also indebted to the exertions of this young man, who exposed himself in nearly an equal degree, and rendered me the most valuable aid. I hope," she said, appealing to my master, "you will permit me to acknowledge his services."

As she spoke she drew out a small embroidered purse with some gold in it, and beckoned me to approach. I did so hesitatingly, for a feeling of shame kept me back. I did not like to receive money from one whom I felt I had wronged; I remembered that I had withheld her letter that morning, and that besides having given her cause for anxiety, I had placed her secret in the power of one who, I feared, would not be over-scrupulous in turning it to his own account. I had been paid for that act, however, and when she thanked me I seemed to feel the coin which Mr. St. John had given me sear my heart like a hot iron. It was something redeeming in my own opinion that I had helped to save her; to have accepted her gold would have cast me even lower than I was before. I therefore humbly but firmly declined to receive any recompence.

"It will be a far greater satisfaction to me, madam," I said, "to experience the same kind of pleasure as those above me. It is not often that a poor boy like myself has such a luxury at his command." As I spoke

I bowed and retreated.

I could perceive that Lady Malpas was not displeased at my words, neither was Monsieur de Courtine, but Mr. St. John shrugged his shoulders, and a malicious smile seemed to say that, after what had passed between us, I was unnecessarily sensitive. I had already begun to entertain a dislike to this gentleman, and the feeling rapidly increased.

"At any rate," I said to myself, "he shall see that I am not his slave,” and watching my opportunity when his eye was turned towards me, and the marquis and Lady Malpas were looking in a different direction, I deliberately took the Napoleon from my pocket and spun it into the gulf.

The blood shot into his cheeks, and he compressed his lips, giving me a glance that said he would remember the act, but I did not provoke him by any further gesture.

"Since your servant, monsieur," said Lady Malpas, to the marquis, "refuses to accept this trifling recognition of his assistance, I must devote the money to another purpose. In this forest country neither labour nor materials are dear, and I dare say this sum will serve to build a more secure bridge than that which I foolishly attempted to cross. If not, it is but adding to it."

"If," observed the marquis, "madame would permit me to be associated in her project, my recollection of the waterfall of Geroldsau would be still dearer than it is."

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Willingly, monsieur," replied the lady; "you deserve to share in memorial that will commemorate your own courage and kindness.”

"And I too," said Mr. St. John, "would gladly contribute my mite." "I think it is hardly fair," returned Lady Malpas, in a tone that scarcely veiled an expression of contempt, "that those should be laid under contribution who were only spectators of the scene. But, monsieur,” she added, addressing the marquis, "we are keeping you standing here in your wet clothes, when we ought to be moving back as fast as we can to Geroldsau."

"Oh," replied Monsieur de Courtine, "whoever penetrates the Black Forest must make up his mind to accidents of this kind. But, in truth, I had forgotten that I was wet, and a sun like this is a powerful agent to dispel humidity."

The suggestion of Lady Malpas was, however, attended to, and we returned to the village the way we came. The tall chasseur was in waiting to receive his mistress, and Monsieur de Courtine had the happiness of conducting her to her carriage-a pretty phaeton drawn by two beautiful white ponies, which she drove herself. A few words passed between them, amongst which I heard some reference made to the approaching concert for that evening, and in a few moments the equipage of Lady Malpas was out of sight.

We followed more leisurely, and quite silently to Baden Baden, for something was passing in Mr. St. John's mind which rendered him as taciturn as he was ordinarily loquacious. On the other hand, the brow of the marquis was less sombre than I had yet seen it, and his thoughts seemed of a brighter hue than was their wont. This was no fancy of mine, for the consequences shortly declared themselves.

WHICH IS THE PRETTIEST?

A GLIMPSE AT THE PARISIAN COULISSES.

BY AN OLD HABITUÉ.

WE think we are justified in saying that never was the English stage more deficient in female loveliness than it is at the present moment. Indeed, excepting Miss Fortescue, Miss Carson, and one or two others, we can hardly cite a single actress in any one of our theatres who has any real pretension to beauty. We have, it is true, a few celebrities of ten or twenty years' standing, who, though now but the shadows of their former selves, might possibly still pass muster, could people be prevailed upon to leave their lorgnettes at home, but as almost every one of these ladies might, without the slightest incongruity, represent la Femme de Quarante Ans, we cannot consider them as exceptions to the general rule.

In Paris the case is different; every year, on an average, fifty or sixty débutantes, fresh from the Conservatoire, the banlieue, or the provinces, appear at one or other of the twenty-two theatres of the capital; and though, perhaps, only one-third of the entire number may succeed in obtaining engagements, still, as it rarely happens that a pretty woman is rejected by a manager, the chances are, that out of the twenty or thirty who remain in Paris, one half, at least, have good looks, if they have nothing else, to depend upon.

After a diligent examination of the personnel of the different Parisian theatres, we find the names of no less than fifty-seven actresses, singers, or danseuses, who have a certain reputation for beauty. Whether that reputation be in all cases well-founded is a matter of opinion, and, as Arnal says, les opinions sont libres. We propose, though the task is both difficult and delicate, passing each of the candidates successively in review before our readers, and thus endeavouring to solve the problem contained in the title of our article-which is the prettiest?

N.B. We dreamt last night that we were writing on this very subject, and had our eyes scratched out by some of the charming creatures at the bottom of the list. They say "dhrames always go by contraries;" we hope they do.

The Académie Royale de Musique, without counting rats and figurantes, whose faces we know better than we do their names, contributes six candidates for the prize of beauty. These are Mesdemoiselles Carlotta Grisi, Nau, Adele Dumilâtre, Maria, Plunkett, and D'Halbert. The five first are well known in England; the sixth is a pupil of the Conservatoire, and has not been long on the stage.

Mademoiselle Carlotta Grisi is a most lovely and loveable blonde; her soft blue eyes are delightfully expressive, her figure is admirably proportioned, and there is a bewitching fascination in her manner, which is as exclusively her own as it is irresistible.

Mademoiselle Nau has a slight but graceful figure, and an intelligent

and agreeable countenance; she is, however, interesting and elegant rather than pretty.

Mademoiselle Adele Dumilâtre is tall and thin, with good eyes, but a wide mouth: she would look better were she more sparing of paint.

Mademoiselle Maria has a piquant face, with small but brilliant eyes, which, however, are rather too close together, and a trim little figure.

Mademoiselle Plunkett is petite, but beautifully made her feet are diminutive and well-formed, and her smile is extremely attractive. She has one of those bright, merry faces which it is always pleasant to contemplate, radiant with youth, archness, and good humour.

Mademoiselle D'Halbert's principal claims to beauty consist in a pair of soft blue eyes and a mass of blonde ringlets.

The Theatre Français is richer in talent than in good looks, most of its lady sociétaires and pensionnaires having seen too many summers to have retained much of their original bloom. Three only out of the entire number,* Mesdemoiselles Brohan, Judith, and Solié, fairly merit the appellation of jolies femmes. The first of these is piquante rather than pretty, with laughing eyes and a lively, open countenance, at which it does one's heart good to look. We remember the day when Mademoiselle Judith was the idol of the habitues of the Folies Dramatiques. She was then a budding beauty, with brilliant eyes and a most admirably proportioned figure; she is now a beauty in full bloom, with an incipient tendency to embonpoint.

The last of the trio, Mademoiselle Solié, is a young and timid ingénue, endowed by nature with a pretty but rather inexpressive countenance, and a quiet, lady-like manner.

The Opera Comique is indifferently supplied with pretty faces, no one having yet been found worthy of replacing Madame Anna Thillon. Indeed, we do not think that the habitues of this theatre would have any reason to complain were the two or three lady singers who alternately play Angèle in Le Domino Noir to keep their masks on all night, or even remain invisible altogether; which latter gratification Scribe and Auber have charitably afforded the public in the first act of La Sirene. We, nevertheless, add four names to our list, though not without misgiving.

Mademoiselle Berthe, though a new comer, is incomparably the pearl, as far as beauty goes, of the Salle Favart: there is a piquant naïveté in her youthful face, and a lively simplicity in her manner which contrast agreeably with the unprepossessing and unintellectual countenances of some of her chefs d'emploi.

Madame Henri Potier has a sufficiency of blonde ringlets and a pair of pretty eyes.

Madame Charlet Martin is a wretched singer, but with that we have nothing to do; she has been called a jolie femme for the last five or six years, and it would be cruel to attempt to undeceive her at the eleventh -hour.

We do not include Mademoiselle Rachel in this catalogue: hers is the beauty of genius, which it would be sacrilege to confound with mere physical beauty.

Mademoiselle Delille has a round, chubby face, and two small twinkling eyes, almost hidden by her rosy cheeks.

The Odéon offers scanty temptation to induce the amateur to cross the water, Madame Delvil being the sole tolerably-looking female in the troupe. Her eyes are large and fine, but her figure and manner are terribly deficient in grace.

The manager of the recently-opened Théâtre Historique, M. Hostein, has already contrived to add three handsome women to his company, Mesdemoiselles Lucie, Atala Beauchêne, and Maillet. The first, a transfuge from the Ambigu, has beautiful eyes, and would be extremely pretty were it not for a most unseemly wide mouth, which completely neutralises the effect produced by her brilliant orbs.

Mademoiselle Atala Beauchêne, once the Josephine of the Cirque, is a majestic specimen of womankind; her figure, though rather on a large scale, is well-proportioned, and she treads the stage with ease and dignity.

Mademoiselle Maillet is a pretty girl and a promising actress. At

tendons.

It is a long way from the Boulevard du Temple to the Place de la Bourse, but with the Vaudeville and its seraglio in view, the distance seems a mere nothing. No less than seven of M. Lockroy's pensionnaires claim our attention, but six of them must wait their turn. A tout Seigneur tout honneur.

the

Madame Doche has the softest and most delicious blue eyes, most silky hair, the most elegant figure, and the sweetest voice imaginable; forming an ensemble of loveliness rarely met with on or off the stage. But it is the expression of her countenance that constitutes its greatest charm; there is such bright intelligence in her eye, such archness and naïveté in her smile, such feminine gentleness and unspeakable grace in her manner that, far from wondering at the universal homage paid to la Reine du Vaudeville, we only regret the utter inadequacy of words to do justice to her beauty.

Mademoiselle Darcier has a lively and pleasing countenance, expressive eyes (which, however, are rather too inconveniently "convenient" to each other), and very engaging manners.

Mademoiselle Augustine Figeac is a gentle, timid-looking creature, with long-fringed gazelle eyes, a quiet lady-like tenue, and a soft, low voice," a most excellent thing in woman."

Mademoiselle Nathalie has magnificent black eyes, and the most goodnatured face possible. Had we not been already aware of her kind and amiable disposition, we should have guessed it from her countenance.

Mademoiselle Anna Grave has created too much sensation in London not to deserve an honourable mention; we should indeed be discourteous were we to omit a passing tribute of admiration to her bright eyes and gentle smile.

Mademoiselle Caroline Bader is an importation from the Délassements Comiques, where she is said to have been much admired. We question whether she will be equally to the taste of the frequenters of the Vaudeville. She is short in stature, or in other words une petite boulotte, tolerably fresh-looking, but puppet-like and maniérée.

Mademoiselle Armande, when not acting, is generally to be seen in