NEXT to bread and butter and beer, personal liberty, that is, the power of exercising one's body and its muscles, without material obstacles, is the chief necessary of life. Put a man under any amount of moral restraint, make him the slave of your will, so that he shall fear to stir two yards' distance without your leave or your command, and he may still be happy; nay, it has been said, or if it has not, it might be said, that two-thirds of mankind are the absolute slaves of the remaining third; and of the remaining third not a tenth perhaps are absolutely their own masters. But put the same man in fetters and handcuffs, and hear how he will howl. Oh! the veriest republican that ever crowed Liberty, Fraternity, Equality, like a cock on the top of not a dunghill-but a barricade, would gladly sell those cherished theories, for the power to roam at will, when he finds himself in a cell six feet by eight.

The turning of the lock made the Count miserable for the moment, but he instantly recovered himself, in the confident hope that Antoine would not be long ere he came to deliver him. He therefore contented himself with cursing his luck, and his curiosity, and then amused himself by squinting through the respective keyholes of each door. The prospect from these apertures was not very lively. Through the one he could see a few yards of carpet, an arm-chair, and a piece of wall; through the other he saw a piece of wall, a carpet, and an arm-chair. Then he took to listening. But this was even less entertaining, for in horror he heard the outside door of the apartment open and shut, and it occurred to his mind that either Paul or Antoine must have gone out. Now if Paul went out, Antoine must have gone too, because he could have no excuse for

staying behind. But if Antoine had gone out, he was left to the chance of Paul looking into the closet and discovering him. He therefore again cursed his luck, his curiosity, and this time, both Paul and Antoine, in addition. But the consolation imparted by a mental oath is short-lived, and by the time ten minutes had elapsed, and the Count could catch no sound in all the apartment, he grew very weary and very miserable.

Sacré matin! I have not breakfasted. Sacré peau de chien! I promised Madame de Ronville to call this morning. Ah! what a pretty sermon I could have administered to that proud girl.'

Then he sat down on the floor, there being nothing else to sit upon, and reflected on this subject. But his reflections were by no means agreeable to him, and in five minutes at the most he was sick of them.

What a time that fellow is, hang him! I must have been here an hour. I shall be late for my appointment with P, if he does not make haste.'

Then he tried to think of all his business transactions, of his intrigues, political and others, of his neighbours in general, and anything else; but the Count was a man of action, and not much reflection. The necessity for prompt action had induced a habit of prompt thought; and slow thinking was therefore intolerable to him. Another quarter of an hour crept heavily by, and the Count began to despair and be very miserable, when the door of the dining-room opened, and brought him some relief.

He immediately applied an eye to the key-hole, and was in time to see the lower limbs of a slim figure pass into the room.

Not yet. It is not the Breton. Those legs are neither Paul's nor his.'

Presently, however, he heard this individual fumbling about the table, and from peculiar noises that proceeded therefrom, he shrewdly guessed that it was Fortuné laying the cloth. 'Ah! thought he, if this faithful servitor were open to a bribe, he would let me out immediately. But how to manage it? He is such a timid pitiful wretch, that if I made a noise to attract his attention, he would rush off at once to his master, and tell him there was a thief hid in the closet. The exposure would be terrible. No. I cannot brave it. I must wait.' He did wait; but it was some consolation to him to mark the various sounds that indicated Fortunée's progress in the art of preparing the board, and to smile at the little sighs that every now and then escaped from that melancholy servitor. He would have given gold only to hear him speak, but Fortuné was born a Trappist, and contented himself with his little sighs. At last a ray of hope beamed for the captive. The outer bell rang

'This is the Breton come back on some excuse or other,' thought he. But no. In the passage he could distinguish the steps of more feet than two, and his doubts were soon made certainties by hearing a ringing laugh from Paul, who directly afterwards entered the dining-room with some other individual.

Is the other one the Breton ? Ludowsky asked himself.

'Well, old fellow,' cried Paul, I hope you have an appetite.'

Yes, an excellent one,' replied a voice, which the Count recognised as that of De Coucy. Here was another disappointment.

'Then let us have up breakfast at once.'

And he heard the two draw their chairs to the table.

For the first time for many years Ludowsky felt thoroughly hungry, and, of course, as it was the first time, he had nothing to eat.

"They are going to breakfast. I shall hear it all, and smell it all, and die of hunger. Damn_that curiosity of mine! damn that Breton! damn everything!'

And just then, to tantalize him yet more, Fortuné entered, bearing a dish of the most savoury meats, the smell

of which was wafted through the keyhole right under the Count's nose. He could stand it no longer, and sat down at the door to nurse his misery.

The rattle of plates, knives, and forks began, and he was doomed to hear the hungry gourmands even munching their food.

A capital ragout this,' said De Coucy, in a loud tone, intended most cruelly to reach the closet.

'Yes, excellent; so well spiced, so tender. Upon my word I think Fortuné is one of the best chefs in Paris. Ah, the Count has lost something by running away.'

'The Count! What Count?' 'Why, Ludowsky. Just fancy what a shabby trick the fellow served me this morning. He came to me on the plea of talking politics, but really, entre nous, to breakfast here, for he knows Fortune's powers, and is awfully fond of his ragoûts à la sauce piquante when he is hungry. Well, we talked our politics, but we had also some conversation about last night. I fancy I must have let slip some idea that he did not like about Mademoiselle de Ronville, the girl he is engaged to, for he took advantage of my being called off for a minute, to leave the house without a word of explanation.'

Very ill-bred, to say the least. But what did you say about this young lady, who, by the way, is a charming girl? I danced with her last night, and found her as agreeable as she is lovely.'

'Oh! I did not say much. But the Count, who is not so sharp as he thinks himself, endeavoured to make me believe that he did not care a rap for her, whereas I know they are still engaged; and, in fact, he told me a downright lie about it."

I

'Indeed!' answered De Coucy, 'I thought the Count was a man of such strict honour and truthfulness. have heard him declare himself to be so; and I always believed that he was an exception to most intriguers, and would never take sly or dishonourable means to advance his ends.'

In this strain the conversation ran on, all being intended expressly for the delectation of the unfortunate Count; while every now and then, as if it was not sufficient to attack his

vanity alone, Paul or De Coucy would exclaim, How capital this is!' What a superb young duckling!' Where do you get that rich old Bordeaux?' and so on, through the whole of a French breakfast, from the ragoût à la sauce piquante to the coffee and the chasse-café after it. When at last the two young men, satisfied and comfortable, lit up two excellent cigars, the poor Count was so exhausted, that he could scarcely listen to the politics which they began to talk, and which he was most particularly anxious to hear.

The politics were dished up in the same style as the earlier conversation, nothing being said which Ludowsky could use against them; but while they deplored the fate of France, they laid the whole blame of it to the Legitimists, and that, too, not without reason. De Coucy directly attacked the Count, while Paul pretended to defend him, but like our defenders in general, he admitted the existence of so many, and great faults in him, only to assert some paltry virtue, that the Count, who was now listening attentively, grew quite desperate.

I admit, my dear fellow,' said Paul with affected warmth, that the man is vain, vain beyond usual vanity; that he is frivolous, and much fonder of his curls and his waistcoat buttons than of the interests of his country; nay, I am ready to concede that he is among the most selfish of selfish Parisians; that he is a fearful liar, a consummate bully, and, par conséquence, a consummate coward; but, my dear De Coucy, you cannot deny that he is a good waltzer, and that he is much better-looking than Fleury.'

Now Fleury was the ugliest courtier in Paris.

"Take care,' said De Coucy; 'take care, my dear friend. Have you confidence in your servant Fortuné? He might be listening at this moment. It is a servant's trick, and he might report what you say.'

'Oh, as for that, we will soon see. There are only two doors in the room. I open this one. He is not in the passage. He might be in the closet, it is true. I have perfect confidence in him, but still it is as well to look.'

At these words the Count trembled from head to foot. The long-dreaded

moment had arrived, but he summoned up all his courage, and prepared to make the best of it.

Holloa! how's this! Why, this door is locked, and the key gone.' So saying, he rang the bell. 'Fortuné, what has become of the key of this door?'

The man denied all knowledge of its disappearance.

'Well, never mind now; you must look for it, Fortuné, and if you do not find it, send for a locksmith to-morrow morning.'

To-morrow morning! The words fell like ice on the Count's ears. Perhaps he was to be left there to starve till the next day.

'Oh! that Breton. If I catch him, I will flay him alive!'

Ere long Paul and De Coucy rose to go out, the former coolly declaring his intention to visit the De Ronvilles.

Then came the worst part of Ludowsky's imprisonment. From one o'clock, which it then was, until eight in the evening, he was left completely alone. Not a sound was in the house. It seemed as if even Fortuné had left the apartment. Then the wretched prisoner had recourse to all kinds of expedients. He attempted to force the doors open, but in vain. He had no knife in his pocket, but he had a magnificent pearl-pin in his scarf. With this he worked away at each lock, but neither of them yielded. At last he gave himself over to despair and fell asleep.

Whether he dreamed that he lay at Vincennes in a dungeon--for no prison less respectable than Vincennes would do for him; or whether, like Messrs. Bunn and Balfe, he dreamt that he dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and serfs by his si-i-i-de, we do not pretend to say; but he suddenly became aware that the study was filled by a silent concourse, who, with heavy steps and in regular order, moved into it from the passage, and took their respective places.

The Count rubbed his eyes, and opened them, whereupon they were immediately dazzled by a bright stream of light that shot through the keyhole. His first idea was rather a confused one. The heavy treading in the next room was that of a band of soldiers. He was in bed at home. In