feats of analytical chemistry. He was, indeed,
be told me, glad to earn a few score of florins by
occasional assays at the mines, or by testing soils
in which the presence of certain minerals was
suspected, since he had only a rente viagère of
eighteen hundred francs to live on, and travelling,
even on foot, was expensive.

I was pleased with the man, his learning,
his gay good humour, and the simple ardour
with which he pursued his researches after
fossils and rare lizards, over hill and dale, at an age
when most of us prefer the chimney-corner.
O'Dwyer, I imagined, liked him less than I did,
and withdrew rather coldly from his frank
advances towards friendship, well meant, but
clumsily made, for the fat Gaul was a blundering,
awkward creature, and singularly devoid of
tact. It was curious to see his neat little
geological cabinet of stained wood, with a label to
every pebble or lump of ore, or to watch the
quiet dexterity with which he manipulated the
birds he was stuffing, and then to listen to the
quaint bonhomie of his conversation. No one
laughed more heartily at his frequent mistakes
or queer speeches than the ex-clerk of
Grandbouchon et Fils, Quai de l'Orfèvre.

"What would you?" said the philosopher,
pleasantly, looking up from his needles and
stuffing cotton. "I was taught to read, write,
and cipher. The best years of my life were spent
in ruling the books of Grandbouchon. I made
shift, in my evenings, to study Audubon and
Cuvier. For society I had never the taste.
Parbleu! I am no Richelieu, no Lauzun; and it
is probably because I am a stupid bête of an
honest man that your compatriot gives me the
cold shoulder."

It was true, and I was vexed by it, that
O'Dwyer grew colder and more reserved towards
the Frenchman as time wore on, and I feared
that some pitiful pride of his own superior birth
or breeding must be the cause.

About this time a misfortune occurred, which
threatened for a time to stop our works
altogether. A debacle somewhere on the head-
waters of the river swept away our half-
finished bridges, tore up the rails, and carried
away not only piles of sleepers, ballast, bricks,
and other materials, but seriously damaged our
forge and carpenter's shed, burying the tools
deep in sludge and ice. We worked hard to
save as much property as possible, and from
the effects of wetting and excitement O'Dwyer
caught the fever of the country, and was soon
prostrate and helpless.

Either the attack was not very severe, or the
patient's strength of constitution, aided by the
herbs administered by the old Polish crone,
fought successfully against the disease, for the
poor lad was soon pronounced convalescent. He
had plenty of volunteer nurses, for the only
difficulty was to keep the hut clear of the Poles, and
the simple fellows would trudge for unheard-of
distances through the woods, to bring back some
rustic dainty which might tempt, as they said,
the "English lord" to eat. If on any sunny
bank a few stray violets or snowdrops peeped
shyly out, the village children were sure to espy
them, and the village girls to bring them to our
settlement, tied in bunches with the gayest
ribbons they could find in their scanty store, to
please the sick man. I watched over him a good
deal while the fever was at its worst, and
Prevoust would willingly have given his services
too, but O'Dwyer, with an invalid's peevishness,
could not endure the Frenchman's presence.

One day— I remember it well—the morning
had been warm and dry, and O'Dwyer, with the
help of my arm, had taken a short walk, to try
his strength; I invited the naturalist to share my
now solitary meal. Prevoust, I should have
said, was lodged in the Ober Director's hut; the
worthy Jew having a spare room, and being glad
to earn a few florins by entertaining so easily-
pleased a guest. Prevoust was in excellent
spirits. There was a childish good humour about
him, which contrasted singularly with his patient
pursuit of science, and his unwearied industry.
He talked, as usual, of a thousand things—
indeed, he would generally converse with zest on
all topics save one— but for politics he had a
rooted aversion. On other points, as he said,
laughingly, he could trust to his gros bon sens
not to lead him into quicksands. But politics
bewildered and confused him, and the ex-clerk
absolutely declined to speak on that tabooed
subject.

"What are kings or kaisers to me, Jean Paul
Prevoust?" he asked in his cheery way. "Of
tare and tret, or double entry, I know something;
but I am stupid as a sheep when state
affairs are discussed. Parbleu! it is enough for
me to stuff my birds and keep my minerals in
order."

He then proceeded, in his artless fashion, to
make a number of remarks on the petty events
that had lately occurred. He had found an old
book at the bottom of his trunk, and, perhaps,
as books were scarce, it might amuse the sick
man. I thanked the good fellow; it was creditable
on his part, I thought, to be so well disposed
towards one who had so plainly taken a
dislike to himself. Prevoust seemed to know
by intuition what was passing in my mind.

"Sapristi!" said he, "people's fancies are their
own property, hein? If your young countryman,
who is beau garçon, if ever there was one,
does not get on well with a dull bourgeois like
me, he cannot make me ass enough to take
offence thereat. Foi de Prevoust, I think him
a fine lad, and if I cannot be his friend, still
he is welcome to the book I spoke of. It is
a novel, I believe, though how I got it I can't
think." Then, striking his forehead, he added,
with a vexed air, " Blockhead that I am! I
forgot that the book is in German, and, no
doubt, as useless to him as to me."

"Is that all?" said I, smiling. "O'Dwyer
speaks German fluently. Indeed, he is a
remarkable linguist. His mother was a Hungarian,
and——"

I stopped short, for the ex-clerk's bushy
eyebrows were suddenly arched, and I fancied
—it must have been fancy— that his eyes