houses of the poor, and the palaces of the nobility. Cop, the rector of the University of Paris, had to deliver an annual discourse; Calvin wrote it for him in the sense of proclaiming the Gospel. The Sorbonne felt itself insulted, and the friendship of the Queen of Navarre alone protected the reformers from their irritation. Both Calvin and Cop were obliged, however, to leave Paris. The place of Calvin was afterwards filled by Melancthon, and Francis I. himself once advocated the cause of the Reformation with the doctors of the Sorbonne.

Events had in the mean time gone on steadily in Geneva, in the sense of that liberty and morality which paved the way for the Reformation, as much as it may also be said to spring from it. The parties of Switzerland and Savoy, Huguenots and Mamluks, were still confronted, and the prince-bishop was still there to abet the one and persecute the other. Ab Hofen, a disciple of Zwingle's, had been toiling assiduously in sowing the seeds of Reformation among the citizens. Unfortunately, an early death cut short his important labours. The prince-bishop, balanced between fear of the duke on the one side, and the apprehensions of losing his temporality on the other, made an attempt to win over the Swiss, but they rejected the discreditable alliance. He then humbled himself to being admitted as one of the body of citizens, and connived at the imprisonment of the canons of the cathedral. He substituted a lay to a clerical council, and, as a natural consequence, its members began immediately to question the prerogatives of the prince-bishop. The position of parties was now changed. The citizens were divided into those who sided with the conciliatory prince-bishop, and those who were altogether opposed to him, whatever concessions he might make. Unfortunately, just at this crisis, the prince-bishop committed so flagrant a false step as to bring utter ruin upon himself and his cause. He had the excessive imprudence to have a young female carried away from her parents, as he afterwards declared, to be given to a musician, but, according to Michel Roset, for his own selfish purposes. This scandalous rape was the last act committed by the Roman bishops in Geneva. Peter de la Baume had no alternative left but to fly before the just indignation of the citizens, and he withdrew under favour of obscurity to Saint Claude, many of his partisans, among whom were Hugues, with him.

The prince-bishop was conquered; not so the Duke of Savoy. He once more attempted to subdue the recreant citizens by various means-by Papal excommunication and by the force of arms. The bishop now joined the party of Savoy, and even Bonivard, alarmed at the progress of the Reformation, withdrew from the liberals. A knighthood, called that of "La Cuiller," was also instituted for the defence of the Roman Church. Pontverre attempted to reduce the city by treachery, but he failed ignobly, and was himself slain. Still, for a long time, Geneva presented nothing but a succession of disorders incident upon a state of anarchy. Even the Swiss cantons threatened to withdraw their alliance. The emperor also advocated the cause of the Pope against the unfortunate Genevese. Severe penalties were enacted against the Huguenots, and the princebishop placed himself at the head of a crusade. He was abetted in this by the knights of "La Cuiller," and by the soldiery of Savoy. The city was about to be taken by assault, when once more an auxiliary force of fifteen thousand Swiss came up and saved the place.

GRANVILLE DE VIGNE.

A TALE OF THE DAY.

PART THE TWENTY-NINTH.

I.

VALETE.

Two days after there was a fête given at Enghein, at the princely maison de plaisance of an English earl-a stout, bloated old man, lavish as the wind, and rich as a Russian, who, consequently, had all the most seductive Parisiennes to make love to him; Dalilah caring very little who her Samson be, provided she can cut off his locks to her own advantage. The fête was of unusual magnificence, and the empress of it was "the Trefusis," as we call her, "that poor fellow De Vigne's wife -a very fast lot, too," as men in general called her-" ma Reine," as the Earl of Morehampton called her, in that pleasant familiarity which the lady in question ever readily admitted to those good friends of hers, who emptied half the Palais Royal upon her in bijouterie, jewellery, and other innocent gifts of amity-a familiarity that always stopped just short of Sir Cresswell's court, over the water. The Trefusis reigned at Enghein, and remarkably well she looked in her sovereignty, her jewelled ivory parasol handle for her sceptre, and her handsome eyes for her droit de conquête. Only three nights before she had lain on the dank grass in the Royal Forest, where the mad agony of a man, whom she had goaded and taunted to the verge of the darkest and most hideous guilt that can stain a human soul, had flung her off, bidding her thank God, not him, he had not murdered her in that ghastly temptation; hurling her from him in delirious violence, lest in another moment of that fell struggle, crime should stain his life, and his grip should be upon her throat-her death lie at his door-her blood be red upon his hand! Only three nights before! but to-day she sat under the limes at Enghein, the very memory of that hour cast behind her for evermore, save when she remembered how she had taunted, how she had jeered, how she had triumphed-remembered in gloating glee, for her victim could not escape her snare! The Trefusis had rarely looked better-never felt more secure in her completed vengeance upon De Vigne, her omnipotent sway over Morehampton, and all her lordly claque, than now. She was beautifully rouged, the carnation tint rich and soft, and defying all detection; her black Chantilly lace swept around her superb form; a parure of amethysts glittering in her bosom, haughtily defiant, magnificent, though coarse if you will, as she drove down to the villa in the Earl's carriage, and reigned under the limes in dominance and triumph that day, as she had reigned since the day she had first looked at her own face in the mirror, and sworn by that face to rise and to revenge.

In brilliant style Morehampton had prepared to receive her, for he admired the quasi-milliner of Frestonhills more than anything else, for

the time being, to the extreme rage of La Baronne de Bréloques, Mademoiselle Celeste Papillon of the Français, and many other fair Parisiennes. There was the villa itself, luxurious as Eugène Sue's; and there were grounds with alcoves, and statues, and rosieries à ravir, as Mademoiselle Celeste phrased it; there was a "pavillon des arts," where some of the best cantatrici in Paris sang like nightingales; there was a déjeûner, with the best cookery in France-who can say more?-there were wines that would have made Rahab or Father Mathew swear, with Trimalchio, "Vita vinum est;" there were plenty of men, lions, littérateurs, and milors Anglais, who were not bored here, because they could say and do just what they pleased, with no restraint upon them whatever. And there were plenty of women (very handsome ones, too, for the Earl would never have wasted his invitations on plain faces), who smoked, and laughed at grivoises tales, and smiled at very prononcée flattery, and drank the Johannisberg and the Steinberg very freely for such dainty lips, and imitated us with their tranchant manners, their slang, and their lionneism in many things, except their toilettes, which were exclusively feminine in their brilliance and voluminous extent-among them the Trefusis, reigning like an empress, to the dire annoyance of most of them, especially to Mademoiselle Papillon, who, being a very dashing young actress, accustomed to look upon Morehampton as her own especial spoil, did not relish being eclipsed by the Englishwoman's superb person and bold black eyes.

The déjeuner was over, during which the noble Earl, as his friends in the Upper House termed him, when they were most politely damning him and his party, was exceedingly devoué to the Trefusis, and thought he had never seen anything finer than those admirably-tinted eyes and beautifully-coloured cheeks. He did not care for your nymphs of eighteen, they were generally too shy and too thin for his taste; he liked bien conservé, full blown, magnificent roses, like the ex-milliner, who certainly made herself more amiable to him than those who have only heard of her in the studio at St. Crucis and the Forest of Fontainebleau can well imagine. The déjeûner was over, at which the Trefusis had reigned with supreme contentment, laughed very loudly, and drank champagne enough for a young cornet just joined; at which old Fantyre enjoyed the pâtes de foie gras and other delicacies, like an old gourmette as she was, told dirty stories in broad Irish-French, and chuckled in herself to see gouty old Morehampton playing the gallant; and at which Mademoiselle Papillon could have fainted with spite, but not willing to give the detested Englishwoman so enormous a triumph, resisted her feelings with noble heroism.

The déjeûner was over, and the guests had broken up into groups, dispersing themselves over the villa and its grounds. The Trefusis and Morehampton took themselves to the "pavillon des arts;" but, after hearing one song from the "Traviata," "Ma Reine" was bored-she cared nothing for music-and she threw herself down on a seat under some linden-trees to take ice, listen to his private band, which was playing close by, and flatter him about his new barouche, which she knew would be offered her as soon as she had praised it. It was by such gifts as these she managed to eke out her income, and live au premier in the Champs Elysées. Morehampton flung himself on the grass at her feet, forgetful

of gout and lumbago; other men gathered round her; she was "a deuced fine woman," they thought, but, "by George! they didn't envy De Vigne." The band played valses and Béranger airs; the Earl was diverted between admiration of the black eyes above and rueful recollections of the damp turf beneath him; Mademoiselle Papillon made desperate love to Leslie Egerton, of the Queen's Bays, but never missed a word or a glance that went on under the lime-trees for all that, with that peculiar double set of optics and oral nerves with which women seem gifted. Very brilliant, and pleasant, and lively, and Watteau-like it all was; and, standing under an alcove at some little distance, mingling unnoticed with the crowd of domestics, stood Raymond, alias Charles Trefusis, come to claim his wife, as he had been bound by De Vigne to do on receipt of De Vigne's reward-none the less weighty a one, you may be sure, because the man had been given only a promise, and not a bond. De Vigne's honour in those matters was in exact inverse ratio to the world's.

"By Jove! sir," the fellow whispered to me-I had come with him to see he kept good faith, and did not give us the slip-" just look at her, what a dash she cuts, and what a fool she's making of that old lord! That's Lord Morehampton, ain't it, sir? I think I remember him dining once with Lord Vane in Pall-Mall. He's a regular martyr to the gout. I wonder he likes that damp grass. I suppose Lucy's bewitched him. Isn't she a wonderful woman, sir! Who'd think, to see her now, that she was ever the daughter of a beggar-woman, and a little millinergirl at Frestonhills, making bonnets and dresses for parsons' wives!"

I looked at her as he spoke, and, though it seemed wonderful to him, it did not seem wonderful to me. Lucy Davis's rise was such a rise as Lucy Davis was certain to make, favoured by opportunity as she had been-neither more nor less of a rise than a hard-headed, unscrupulous, excessively handsome woman, determined to push her way, and able to take the best possible advantage of every turn of the wheel, was pretty sure to effect. She could not make herself a gentlewoman-she could not make herself a woman of talent or of ton. That she was not a "lady," Sabretasche's sure perception had told him long, long ago, and his daughter's delicate taste had known still more certainly later on: she was merely what she had been for the last ten years, with the aid of money, dress, and assurance-a dashing, handsome, skilful intrigante, whose magnificence of form made men forget or never notice her shortcomings in style, and whose full-blown beauty made them content with the paucity of ideas and the vulgar harshness of tone in the few words which ever passed the Trefusis's lips, which were too wise to essay often that sure touchstone of mind and education—conversation.

Raymond stood looking at her, a cunning, malicious gleam of satisfaction in his little light eyes. His wife had made a better thing of life than he had done; he detested her accordingly; he had many old grudges to pay off against her for bitter, snarling words, and money flung to him, because she feared him, with a sneer and an invective; he hated her for having lived in clover, while he had not even had a taste of luxury, save the luxuries of flunkeyism and valetdom, since they parted, and he enjoyed pulling her up in the midst of her glories with such malignant pleasure as was natural to his disposition. She had married him at two-and

twenty; she had made him repent of it before the honeymoon was out; she had played her cards since to her own glorification and his mortification: there was plenty in all that to give him no little enjoyment in throwing her back, with a jerk, in the midst of her race. He stood looking at her with a peculiar smile on his lips. I dare say he was thinking what a fool he had been to fall in love with the black-eyed milliner of Frestonhills, and what a far greater fool still was his lordship of Morehampton to waste so much time and so much money, such wines, such jewellery, and such adoration, on this full-blown rose, whom no one ever tried to gather but, somewhere or other, they scratched themselves on her dexterously moss-hidden thorns.

At last the Trefusis, tired of ices, cancans, and Morehampton's florid compliments, which I should think must have been most profoundly tiresome (though all flattery is welcome to some women, as all bonbons to children, whether of sugar or chalk, lemon-juice or citric acid), rose to go into the house and look at some rare Du Berri vases that had belonged to Madame de Parabère, and for which the Earl had given a fabulous price, and as foolish a one as our ancestors used to give for tulip-roots. The Trefusis rose, Morehampton sprung to his feet with boyish lightness and gallant disregard of the gout, and then her husband stepped forward; and I doubt if Nemesis, though she often took a more imposing, ever assumed a deadlier guise than that of the ci-devant valet!

The Trefusis gave an irrepressible start as she saw him; the colour left her lips; her cheeks it could not leave. She began laughing and talking to Morehampton hurriedly, nervously, incoherently, but there was a wild, lurid gleam in her eye, restless and savage. Her husband touched his hat submissively, but with a queer smile still on his face.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, but may I be allowed to relieve you of the escort of my wife?"

Morehampton twisted himself round, stuck his gold glass in his eye, and stared with all his might; the men crowded closer, stroking their moustaches in curiosity and surprise; the English women, who could understand the speech, suspended the spoonfuls of ice that were en route to their lips, and broke off their conversation for a minute; the Trefusis flushed scarlet to her very brow, her eyes scintillated and glared like a tigress just stung by a shot that inflames all her savage nature into fury-ever ready with a lie, she clung to Morehampton's arm:

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My dear lord! I know this poor creature very well; he is a lunatic -a confirmed lunatic-a harmless one quite; but it is one of his hallucinations that every woman he sees and admires is his wife, who really, I believe, ran away from him, and his brain was turned with the shock of her infidelity. He is harmless, as I say-at least I have always heard so-but pray tell your servants to take him away. It is very horrible !"

It was an admirably-told falsehood-told, too, with the most natural ease, the most natural compassion imaginable-and passed muster with Morehampton, who signed to two of his lacqueys.

"Seize that fellow and turn him out of the grounds. How did he get in, Soames? Go for some gendarmes if he resist you," said the Earl, aloud; then bent his head, and added (sotto voce), "How grieved I am, dearest, that you should be so absurdly annoyed. What a shockingly stupid fellow! Brain turned, you say-and for a wife?"

But Raymond signed off the two footmen, who were circling gingerly