shrouded in all kinds of impossible wraps, who crowd round the waiting-room. You look with a kind of awe at the stout, keen-visaged inspector, in his little red cloth cap, flanked by two military and sworded assessors, who examines the passports at the bar before which you have to pass.

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"Cologne," with a toss of the paper, "Bruxelles," Cologne," Then a pause and a scrutiny. "Paris. Where for, monsieur ?" "Marsey," says an Anglo-Saxon tongue.

"Parbleu! speak Engleesh. I understand you as better," replies the inspector.

You feel relieved by the snub administered to your predecessor in passing through the little sheep pen guarded by those fierce men in kepis. Your doubts as to the purity of your own pronunciation are freely tossed to the winds, and you boldly say "Paris" in plain English.

"Passez, monsieur," says the official in a tone that implies "Get along!"

Then you become sensible that you are in the land of liberty and equality; liberty for the railway officials to treat the passengers like swine-equality in the helpless subjects of their wrath before the majesty of the bureau.

Then

comes the struggle for the luggage; the sharp rebuke because your keys are not ready; and the halfexpressed intimation that you are a smuggler, because of the bit of dust that has ensconced itself in the tube of your Bramah. Next comes the putting of the dirty hands of one of the men in blue blouses in the plaits of your dress shirts. The neatly-packed contents of your trunks are stirred up as bricklayers whomel the mortar with a spade; the lid is jammed down, with the tail of a coat flying out as a signal of distress; the

"Vite! Vite!" shout the attendants-attendants do we say?— the condescending but extremely malevolent genii loci.

Then comes a repetition of the first part of the journey, varied by the fierce shouts which conceal the names of the stations at which you stop, the violent flinging open of the door of the carriage when you feebly attempt to close it, the infliction of the maximum of noise, of disturbance, and of contempt, upon the helpless passengers, combined with such a method of stoppage short of the platform, or on the wrong side of the line, which you are forbidden to cross on pain of imprisonment, or worse, that you cannot get out for a minute to make yourself comfortable. And so you arrive at Paris.

Here again is the torment of the luggage the search less profound, but rendered all the more aggravating by the half hour's preliminary delay during which you are kept all together in a room, without even a bench to sit down upon. Then you emerge on an open corridor, where a line of omnibuses is being loaded amid a storm of screams, of shouts, and oaths, the like of which never burst on your senses before. Then you get into a remise, your luggage is handed up, and you feel the first moment of comparative relief and comfort since you left your home for the station in London.

"Where can one go to be comfortable in Paris?" asked Guy of his travelling companion.

"It depends altogether on your views of comfort. The great rule on the Continent is to avoid places where English people go. But if you do not like an exclusively French house, it is more difficult. The best hotel in Paris used to be the Hotel des Princes; but that has been rendered entirely uninhabitable by an influx of Americans. Hotel Bristol is correct and has the reputation of being the most expensive. You will, perhaps, be most comfortable at the Hotel de Lille et d'Albion." There accordingly Guy directed his remise to proceed.

Refreshed to some extent by bath and by coffee, and with ravenous appetite appeased by the inevitable bifstick aux pommes de terre, Guy's first care was to present his letters of introduction. How strangely the old historic names of some of the localities met his eyes. This the Louvre! thought he; this the church from which boomed the tocsin of the St. Bartholomew, the origin of the first of those fierce cataracts of human blood of which Paris has not yet, it may be, seen the last.

Readily conducted to the wellknown residence of the Baron, Guy entered a commodious set of apartments, fitted up with a curious mixture of the bureau and the drawing-room, the uncomfortable and the luxurious, and occupied by men of different manners, but all seeming to have a strong family likeness to one another. An air of noble disdain of the outer and humbler world pervaded the establishment. "You may leave it if you like it will probably be safe," said a stout man, with an exaggerated nose, to a dissatisfied and somewhat alarmed visitor, who had a pile of bank notes before him on the counter, "It will probably be quite safe. It is not our custom to give any receipts."

The establishment was of a polyglot character. French, German, Italian, Spanish, English, appeared to be spoken with equal ease by different clerks, or even by the same individual, as he happened to be addressed in either of these tongues. But under all the language audible in the establishment seemed to lurk, or to whisper, a peculiar and indescribable cadence. It was like the low note with which the organ may be heard to accompany certain chants. You hear the voices plainly, you are in doubt as to whether there is any instrumental accompaniment or not. Still the

whole symphony of sound is modulated, and as it were bound together by that key note. And when the chants swells, and the voices rise, and the energy of praise or of prayer augments the power of the music, the accompaniment in its turn becomes louder and louder, till the full diapason rings out through the vaults. In the same way, a sort of harsh brassiness of tone, rather musical than vocal, coinciding in some instances with a hoarse, coarse, offensive utterance; in others with a high, clear, seminasal pronunciation, pervaded the whole hum of the interjectional

Guy explained what he wanted.

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Yees," said the other, "de Bank of Athens-it ees Government bank-it ees as responseeble as de Greek Government itself-it 'as a responseeble proprietary-it can meet all its engagements. I do not know de Paris Gérant; de bank is very goode. Anything farder? Goode day. Happee to see you;" and the first part of the business at Paris was at an end.

The Hellenic Bank of Athens was the next point to gain. It was on the first floor of a large house on the Boulevard des Italiens. A court-yard, with lofty iron railings before it, occupied the centre of a pile of buildings surrounding three sides of a quadrangle, and the suite of rooms leading from the back to the front was designated by a large inscription as the official domicile "Of the Royal Hellenic Bank of Athens, Paris Branch." Guy ascended, rang a bell at a closed mahogany door; a civil domestic opened it. "Monsieur le Director Gérant was not at the Bureau-he was expected incessantly. If monsieur would call in half an hour. But see there-see here Monsieur le Directeur."

Guy turned towards the man who entered. It was his companion in the train.

and Co. I am in the employment of the firm."

"And what can I have the pleasure of doing for you, Mr. Carrington? But do not stay here-step into my room. This way."

Guy had produced the letter. "It is only a little formality," said he, "but the managing partner is very precise. I only wished to ascertain that this letter really came from the bank."

"Allow me to look," said the Directeur.

Guy handed him the letter, which the other carefully scrutinised. "Yes," said he, "that is our headed paper-that is my signature. Of course it is right for you to inquire. It is quite regular."

"Thank you," said Guy, about to go.

"A moment," said the other. "The bank is, I think, pretty well known. But I have not been very long in Paris myself. It will not be fair to you to ask you to take the word of a stranger. It will be a great pleasure to me to present you to our chairman. That will be more satisfactory. He is as well known as any man in Paris. Monsieur le Duc de Forçada. My carriage is below. We will go at

once.

This seemed at once a businesslike and gentleman-like proceeding, and Guy was soon ensconced with his new acquaintance in a tiny brougham, in which it seemed miraculous that two full-grown men could be packed. It was rather a squeeze. They drove into one of the quieter quarters of the gay and sparkling city. Grey old houses looked from behind lofty walls, and, in one or two instances, some of the historic scutcheons of the French noblesse were undefaced, or even newly restored, over the gateways.

Surely those are the Rohan arms," said Guy.

"Of course," said his companion. "This is the only part of Paris in which it is correct to live. Some of the old habits are reappearing, like flies in the sunshine."

"Rather substantial flies," said Guy.

"You think so-yes-I think so, too. But then we are in the minority. The hereditary noblesse forms a part of the old religion, just as the clergy forms a part; but religion is not in fashion at present. It is going out. It is extremely bad taste. But these things occur in cycles."

"Which way is the cycle moving now?" said Guy.

"Towards order;" said the other, "the protection of society, that is the môt d'ordre, which will lead to one of two things. Hierarchical aristocratic rule, or absolute military rule which, is yet on the

cards. Here is the duke's house." Monsieur le duc est il chez soi, Charles ?"

"Monsieur le duc se trouve dans son appartement, Monsieur le Directeur Gérant," said the porter.

They drove into the court-yard, and entered a door at some distance from the principal entrance. A short passage and a flight of steps brought them on to a narrow landing-place, on which opened a small room, where the duke's valet was at that time occupied in folding a greatcoat. "Monsieur le duc est il visible?" repeated the Directeur.

"Je vais voir, M. le Directeur," said the man, who very soon reappeared. "M. le duc vous recevra. Entrez toujours, M. le Directeur."

The servant opened the door of a large room looking out on a garden shaded by well-grown trees. The furniture of the room was of extreme simplicity—a writing table in one corner; two or three of those walnut-tree presses, which may contain clothes or papers; a moderate-sized table in the centre;

half a dozen chairs, and, entirely filling a recess at the end, a bed neatly covered by a rich green silk counterpane.

Monsieur le Duc de Forçada, who had risen from his writing table before they entered the room, impressed Guy at first with the idea that he had seen him before. Then he reflected that it was impossible that this could be the case. It was not for some time that the solution of the difficulty occurred to him. It originated in the curious likeness that the duke bore to Mr. Macrocleptos.

Yet they were not alike; at least the differences were as pronounced as the resemblances. The eyes of the Greek were dark and flat; those of the duke were a pale, watery grey, round, and very prominent. The grizzled hair and beard of the former had a foundation of black. The hair of the duke was of a light, sandy colour, his scanty whiskers descended only half way down his cheeks; his lip and chin were shaved, and his nose and mouth resembled very closely the physiognomy of a frog. Yet the idea seemed to suggest itself that the two men had been cast in the same mould, only that the Greek contractor had been baked a good deal longer than the duke.

A cause, or a consequence, of this resemblance might be the circumstance that Alexis Macrocleptos was the cad, toady, ape, shadow, double, scout, shoeblack, and general factotum for the dirty work of M. le Duc de Forçada. For it was natural that that nobleman should wish to do his dirty work as far as possible by deputy. Thus there was a keen sympathy between them, a sympathy of that kind which, Lavater tells us, will betray itself by a strong similarity of manner, or even of feature or expression. Only in the duke there was a faint varnish, or veneer, of good breeding,

of which his shadow was wholly innocent. So that the duke was knowingly and consciously, that which his aide-de-camp was only instinctively and unconsciously, namely, mean, base, false, and crawling.

Yet Monsieur le Duc de Forçada was a real duke. Not a Napoleonic creation, not the purchaser of a titled estate, but the representative of a line of Italian nobles that stretched back far into medieval history. He represented the Dukes of Forçada of the times of the Spanish Dominion in Italy, represented them, not only as the men in armour at the Lord Mayors' show may represent the heroes of chivalry, but in the genealogical sense of the term. But he seemed made of very different stuff from those martial ancestors.

As a

Monsieur le Duc de Forçada was indeed a well-known man. capitalist, he would rank himself on the level of the great Jewish primate of finance. Perhaps that was not the rank that others might assign him; but he had at all events much command of money. He was a director of the Credit Transitoire-that great fourth estate, or second estate, in France; of the Belgian Coal Fields Company, of the Central Corsican Bank, of the Victor Diavolino Railway, of the Mont de Piété at Milan, and of numerous other institutions.

Monsieur le Duc paid not the slightest attention to Guy on his entrance, or on his introduction by the Gérant. He did not see his bow. But, when he had gathered from the conversation of his acquaintance the status and object of Guy, he transferred to him his entire attention, and ceased to appear conscious of the presence of his introducer.

The duke spoke with extreme volubility; not quite with the projectile force of Macrocleptos, but

any deficiency in this respect was balanced by a constant repetition, almost amounting to a stammer, and by a bubbling and frothing at the lips, that was peculiar to himself. As his French was not that of Blois, nor even that of Paris, but slightly tinctured with the Provençal, and as his Italian was Genoese, it will be more agreeable to give the substance of his conversation in English-a method which, perhaps, it may be convenient to adopt with reference to most of that which is narrated as occurring in Paris.

Monsieur le Duc de Forçada had great pleasure in assuring the representative of Sir Robert Plumville and Co. of the perfect and unexceptionable respectability of the Bank of Athens. He himself (he always spoke of himself as Monsieur le Duc de Forçada) was chairman. Some of his colleagues of the Credit Transitoire were directors. Nothing was better in Paris than the Bank of Athens, and the shares were so strongly held that they were rarely procurable. For that reason they were rarely quoted on the list of the Bourse. But there was an undertaking which was likely hereafter to be even more lucrative than the Bank of Athens (which from the extremely cautious principles on which it was conducted, had only divided at the rate of 12 per cent. to its shareholders for the last half year, besides laying by per cent. for the amortisation fund, and five per cent. for increase of the guarantee fund). That other enterprise was the Athens and Piræus Railway. All the most eminent Greek houses had shares in this speculation, and the Credit Transitoire had undertaken to launch it, which was a perfect and solid guarantee of eminent success. As an especial favour to his young friend, Monsieur le Duc would place at Guy's