day he is in doubt whether you have accepted or refused?"

"How do you know that?" asked Maitland, eagerly.

"I know it in this wise: that when his Majesty mentioned your name t'other day to Filangieri, he said, 'The Chevalier Maitland or Count of Amalfi-I don't know by which name he likes to call himself."

"Are you sure of this?"

"I heard it; I was present when he said it."

"If I did not accept when it was offered, the reason was this: I thought that the first time I wrote myself Count of Amalfi, old Santarelli would summon me before him to show birth and parentage, and fifty other particulars which I could have no wish to see inquired after; and, as the title of Amalfi was one once borne by a cadet of the royal family, he'd have been all the more exacting in his perquisitions before inscribing my name in that precious volume he calls the 'Libro d'Oro.' If, however, you tell me that the King considers that I have accepted the rank, it gives the matter another aspect."

"I suspect poor old Santarelli has very little heart for heraldry just now. He has got a notion that the first man the Revolutionists will hang will be himself, representing, as he does, all the privileges of feudalism."

There is one way to do it, if it could be managed," said Maitland, pondering. "Three lines, in the King's hand, addressing me 'The Chevalier Maitland, Count of Amalfi!' With these I'd defy all the heralds that ever carried a painted coat in a procession."

"If that be all, I'll promise you it. I am writing to Filangieri tomorrow. Let me have some details of what men you have recruited and what services you have rendered, briefly, not formally; and I'll say, 'If our master would vouchsafe in his own hand a line, a word even, to the Count of Amalfi, it would be a recompense he would not exchange for millions.' I'll say

'that the letter could be sent to Ludolf at Turin, where we shall probably be in a week or two."

"And do you think the King will accede?"

"Of course he will. We are not asking for a pension, or leave to shoot at Caserta. The thing is the same as done. Kings like a cheap road out of their indebtedness as well as humbler people. If not, they would never have invented crosses and grand cordons."

"Now, let us concoct the thing regularly," said Maitland, passing the decanters from before him, as though, by a gesture, to show that he had turned from all conviviality to serious considerations. "You," continued he, "will first of all write to Filangieri."

"Yes. I will say, half incidentally, as it were, Maitland is here with me, as eager as the warmest of us in the cause. He has been eminently successful in his recruitment, of which he will soon send you details

"Ay, but now, that fellow M'Caskey, who has all the papers, did not meet me as I ordered him, and I cannot tell where he is."

"I am to blame for this, Maitland, for I ordered him to come over here, as the most certain of all ways of seeing you."

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And he is here now?"

"Yes. Arrived last night. In the hope of your arrival, I gave him a rendezvous here-any hour from ten to one or two to-nightand we shall soon see him."

"I must confess, I don't care how brief the interview be: the man is not at all to my liking."

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You are not likely to be much bored by him here, at least." "How do you mean?"

"The police are certain to hear of his arrival, and to give him a friendly hint to arrange his private affairs with all convenient despatch, and move off."

"With what party or section do they connect him?"

"With how many? you might perhaps ask; for I take it he has held office with every shade of opin

ion, and intrigued for any cause from Henry V. to the reddest republicanism. The authorities, however, always deal with a certain courtesy to a man of this sort. They intimate, simply, We are aware you are here we know pretty well for what; and so, don't push us to any disagreeable measures, but cross over into Belgium or Switzerland. M'Caskey himself told me he was recognised as he drew up at the hotel, and in consequence thinks he shall have to go on in a day or two."

"Is not the fellow's vanity in some measure a reason for this? Does he not rather plume himself on being 'l'homme dangereux' to all Europe?"

"In conversation he would certainly give this idea, but not in fact. He is marvellously adroit in all his dealings with the authorities, and in nothing is he more subtle than in the advantage he takes of his own immense conceit. He invariably makes it appear that vanity is his weak point; or, as he phrases it himself, I always show my adversary so much of my hand as will mislead him."

"And is he really as deep as all this would imply?"

"Very deep for an Englishman; fully able to cope with the cunningest of his own people, but a child amongst ours, Maitland."

Maitland laughed scornfully as he said, "For the real work of life all your craft avails little. No man ever cut his way through a wood with a penknife, were it ever so sharp."

"The Count M'Caskey, Eccellenza, desires to know if you receive?" said Caffarelli's servant, in a low tone.

"Yes, certainly, but do not admit any one else."

Very significant-but very differently significant-were the looks that passed between Maitland and Caffarelli in the brief interval before M'Caskey entered. At last the door was flung wide, and the distinguished Major appeared in full

evening-dress, one side of his coat a blaze of stars and crosses, while in front of his cravat he wore the ribbon and collar of some very showy order. Nothing could be easier than his entrée-nothing less embarrassed than his salutation to each in turn, as, throwing his white gloves into his hat, he drew over to the table, and began to search for an unused wine-glass.

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Here is a glass," said Caffarelli. What will you drink? This is Bordeaux, and this is some sort of Hock; this is Moselle."

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Hand me the sherry; I am chilly. I have been chilly all day, and went out to dine against my will."

"Where did you dine?"

"With Plon-Plon," said he, languidly.

"With the Prince Napoleon?" asked Maitland, incredulously.

"Yes; he insisted on it. I wrote to him to say that La Verrier, the sous-prefet, had invited me to make as short a delay at Paris as was consistent with my perfect convenience

the police euphuism for twentyfour hours; and I said, 'Pray excuse me at dinner, for I shall want to see Caffarelli.' But he wouldn't take any apology, and I went, and we really were very pleasant."

"Who was there?" asked Caffarelli.

"Only seven altogether: Bagration and his pretty niece; an Aldobrandini Countess - bygone, but still handsome; Joseph Poniatowsky; Botrain of 'La Patrie;' and your humble servant. Fould, I think, was expected, but did not come. Fearfully hot, this sherry; don't you think so?"

Maitland looked superbly defiant, and turned his head away without ceremony. Caffarelli, however, came quickly to the rescue by pushing over a bottle of Burgundy, and saying, " And it was a pleasant party?"

"Yes, decidedly pleasant," said M'Caskey, with the air of one pronouncing a judicial opinion. "The women were nice, very well dressed

-the little Russian especially; and then we talked away as people only do talk in Paris, where there is none of that rotten cant of London, and no subject discussed but the little trivialities of daily life."

Caffarelli's eyes sparkled with mischievous delight as he watched the expansive vanity in M'Caskey's face, and the disgust that darkened in Maitland's. "We had a little of everything," said M'Caskey, with his head thrown back and two fingers of one hand jauntily stuck in his waistcoat-pocket. "We had politics-Plon-Plon's own peculiar politics-Europe a democracy, and himself the head of it. We discussed dinners and dinner-givers -a race fast dying out. We talked a little finance, and lastly, Women. "Your own theme!" said Caffarelli, with a slight inclination of the head.

"Without vanity, I might say it was. Poor old D'Orsay always said, 'Scratch M'Caskey, and I'll back myself for success against any man in Europe.'"

Maitland started as if a viper had bitten him, but by an effort he seemed to restrain himself, and, taking out his cigar-case, began a diligent search for a cigar.

"Ha, cheroots, I see!" cried M'Caskey; "cheroots are a weakness of mine. Pick me out a wellspotted one, will you?"

Maitland threw the case as it was across the table to him without a word.

M'Caskey selected some six or eight, and laid them beside him. "You are low, depressed, this evening, Maitland," said he; "what's the matter with you?"

"No, sir, not depressed-disgust

ed."

"Ah, disgusted!" said M'Caskey, slowly, and his small eyes twinkled like two balls of fire. "Would it be indiscreet to ask the cause?"

"It would be very indiscreet, Count M'Caskey," interposed Caffarelli, "to forget that you are here purely on a grave matter of business-far too grave to be compro

mised by any forgetfulness on the score of temper."

"Yes, sir," broke in Maitland; "there can always be found a fitting time and place to arrange any small questions outstanding between you and me. We want now to learn something of what you have done in Ireland lately, for the King's service."

M'Caskey drew from his pocket a much worn pocket-book, crammed to bursting with a variety of loose papers, cards, and photographs, which fell about as he opened it. Not heeding the disorder, he sought out a particular page, and read aloud: "Embarked this twenty-second of September at Gravesend, on board the Ocean Queen, bound for Messina with machinery, two hundred and eleven labourers-labourers engaged for two years-to work on the state railroads; twenty-eight do. do. on board of the Star of Swansea, for Molo de Gaeta with coals— making, with three hundred and eighty-two already despatched, within about thirty of the first battalion of the Cacciatori of St Patrick."

"Well done! bravissimo!" cried Caffarelli, right glad to seize upon the opportunity to restore a pleasanter understanding.

"There's not a man amongst them would not be taken in the Guards; and they who regard height of stature as the first element of the soldier-amongst whom I am not one

would pronounce them magnificent!"

"And are many more available of the same sort ?" asked Caffarelli. "Ten thousand, sir, if you like to pay for them."

"Do these men understand that they are enlisted as soldiers, not engaged as navvies ?" asked Maitland.

"As well as you do. Whatever our friend Caffarelli may think, I can tell him that my countrymen are no more deficient in acuteness than his own. These fellows know the cause just as well as they know the bounty."

"I was not inquiring as to their sympathies," said Maitland, caus

tically; "I merely wanted to hear how they understood the contract.' "They are hirelings, of course, as I am, and as you are," said M'Caskey. "By what presumption, sir, do you speak of me?" said Maitland rising, his face dark with passion. "If the accidents of life range us in the same cause, is there any other tie or bond between us?"

"Once more I declare I will have none of this," said Caffarelli, pushing Maitland down into his chair. "Count M'Caskey, the Central Committee have placed you under my orders. These orders are, that you report yourself to General Filangieri at Naples as soon as you can arrive there; that you duly inform the Minister at War of what steps you have already taken in the recruitment, putting yourself at his disposition for further service. Do you want money?" added he in a lower tone, as he drew the Major aside.

"A man always wants money, sir," said M'Caskey, sententiously. "I am your banker what shall it be?" said Caffarelli, drawing out his pocket-book.

"For the present," said M'Caskey, carelessly, "a couple of thousand francs will suffice. I have a rather long bill against his Majesty, but it can wait."

He pocketed the notes without deigning to look at them, and then, drawing closer to Caffarelli, said, in a whisper, "You'll have to keep your friend yonder somewhat 'better in hand'-you will, really. If not, I shall have to shoot him.

"The Chevalier Maitland is your superior officer, sir," said Caffarelli, haughtily. "Take care how you speak of him to any one, but more especially to me, who am his friend."

"I am at his 'friend's' orders equally," said the Major: "my case contains two pistols."

Caffarelli turned away with a shrug of the shoulder, and a look that unmistakably bespoke disgust.

"Here goes, then, for the stirrup

cup!" said M'Caskey, filling a large goblet with burgundy. "To our next meeting, gentlemen," and he bowed as he lifted it to his lips. "Won't you drink to my toast?" said he, stopping.

Caffarelli filled his glass, and touched it to his lips; but Maitland sat with his gaze bent upon the fire, and never looked up.

"Present my homage to the pretty widow when you see her, Maitland, and give her that," and he flung down a photograph on the table. It's not a good one, but it will serve to remind her of me.

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Maitland seized the card and pitched it into the fire, pressing down the embers with his boot.

Caffarelli sprang forward, and laid his hands on M'Caskey's shoulders.

"When, and where?" said the Major, calmly.

"Now-here-if you like," said Maitland, as calmly.

"At last," said a deep voice, and a brigadier of the gendarmerie entered, followed by two of his men.

"M. le Comte," said he, addressing the Major, "I have been in search of you since eleven o'clock. There's a special train waiting to convey you to Macon-pray don't lose any more time."

"I shall be at Naples within a fortnight," whispered Maitland.

"All right," replied M'Caskey. "M. le Brigadier, à vos ordres. Good-bye, Count. By the way, I was forgetting my cheroots, which are really excellent ;" and so saying he carefully placed them in his cigar-case; and then, giving his greatcoat to one of the gendarmes to assist him while he drew it on, he waved a little familiar adieu with his hand and departed.

"My dear Maitland, how could you so far forget yourself, and with such a man?" said Caffarelli, laying his hands on his shoulder.

"With any other man I could not have forgotten myself," said he, sternly. Let us think no more of him."

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