The Immortal

were closed, society broken up, the Chamber and the Institute not sitting, his funeral train would have been composed of Academ

sing a week entirely blank, when, as there was no crime, or duel, or interesting lawsuit, or politic

lon was, what he had done in his seventy years' sojourn among mankind, what was the meaning of the capital letter embroidered in silver on the funeral drapery, was known to but few in the crowd. The one thing which struck them was the arrangement of the protecting line, and the large space left to the dead,

ting to the time when he was Superintendent at the Beaux-Arts. The man was a sort of shrewd attorney, creeping and cringing, with a permanent bow and an apologetic attitude, which seemed to ask your pardon for his decorations, your pardon for his insignia, your pardon for his place in the Académie-where his experience as a man of business was useful in fusing together a number of dif

contemplation of their living idols, the 'deities' made and fashioned by the cunning of their little hands, the work upon which, as women, they had employed the superabundance of their energy, artfulness, ambition, and pride. Some actresses had come too, on the pretext that the deceased had been the president of some sort of Actors' Orphanage, but moved in reality by the frantic determination 'not to be out of it,' which belongs to their class. Their expressions of woe were such that they might have been taken for near relations. A carriage suddenly drawing up set down a distracted group of black veils, whose sorrow was distressing to witness. The widow, at last? No, it is Marguerite Oger, the great sensat

casionally, 'Excuse me, gentlemen-members of the family,' he brought to the front with him his country friend, who, though delighted at the meeting, felt some embarrassment, as the sculptor talked after his fashion, freely and audibly. 'Bless me, what luck Loisillon has! Why there weren't more people for Béranger. This is the sort of thing to keep a young man's pecker up.' Here Freydet, seeing the hearse approaching, took off his hat. 'Good gracious,

e that followed, such as Astier-Réhu and Desminières, were all embarrassed and uncomfortable, all acknowledged by their apologetic and self-conscious bearing the absurdity of their disguise, which, though it might pass in the chastened light of their historic dome, seemed amid the real life of the street not less laughable than a show of monkeys. 'I declare one would like to throw some nuts to see if they would go after them on all fours,' said Freydet's undesirable companion. But Freydet did not catch the impertinent remark. He slipped away, mixed with the procession, and entered the church between two files of soldiers with arms reversed. He was in his heart profoundly glad that Loisillon was dead. He had never seen or known him; he could not love him for his work's sake, as he had done no work; and the only thing for which he could thank him was that he had left his chair empty at such a convenient moment. But he was impressed notwi

houghts of the candidate from his verses, and he began to consider his plan of operations, his calls, his official announcement to the Permanent Secretary. But what was he thinking of? The Permanent Secretary was dead! Would

im sleep quietly after his many years of turmoil and intrigue! The solemn stirring chant was answered in the nave by women's sobbing, above which rose the tragic convulsive gasp of Marguerite Oger, the gasp so impressive in the fourth act of 'Musidora.' All this lamentation touched the kind-hearted candidate and linked itself in his

nières, and Freydet's old master, Astier-Réhu. They all looked superb now, the parrot green of their laced coats being subdued by the dim religious light of the lofty building as they walked down the central aisle, two and two, slowly, as if loth to reach the great square of daylight seen through the open doors. Behind came the whole Society, headed by its senior member, the wonderful old Jean Réhu, looking taller than

ed by the crowd recalled works long dead and forgotten. Beside such ghosts as these, 'on furlough from the cemetery,' as was remarked by a smart young soldier in the guard of honour, the rest of the Academicians seemed young. They posed and strutted before the delighted eyes of the ladies, whose bright gleams reached them through the black veils, the ranks of the crowd, and the cloa

tir yourself! Be quiet! Which advice was he to take? Which was the best? Doubtless his master, Astier, would tell him, and he tried to reach him outside the church. It was no easy task in the confusion of the court, where they were forming the procession, and lifting the coffin under its heap of countless wreaths. Never was a scene more lively than this coming out from the funeral into the brilliant daylight;

last Tuesday,' simpered Madame Ancelin, while Paul

king Madame

six. We shall want fresh

det, dazzled by the sun, tilted his hat over his eyes and looked at the crowd, which reached as far as he could see. He felt proud, transferring to the Académie the posthumous glory which certainly could not be ascribed to the author of the 'Journey in Val d'Andorre,' though at the same time he was distressed at noticing that

se of saying something sympathetic. Astier-Réhu, standing by the hearse, made no answer, but went on tur

r, roughly, in a loud voice. And with one harsh sna

imself over, but could find no explanation of the

d idea, all expressing with their eyes the same hatred and distrust of their neighbours. When he had got over his discomfiture, and was able to identify these persons, he recognised the faded, hopeless face of old Moser, the candidate everlasting; the honest expression of Dalzon, the author of 'that book,' who had failed at the last election; and de Salêles!-and Guérineau!-Why, they were the 'fish in tow'! They were the men about whom the Académie 'does no

sic again took up the long-drawn strains of the Hero's March. In the presence of so impressive a tribute as this national funeral, this proud protest on the part of humanity, crushed and ove