The law has many ways and many chances; and, although the eyes of the world may be on us, we will save the family that shame. But we must begin early."

Save the family-not Philip! Apparently the answer satisfied the Earl, for he grasped Edgar's hands with much fervour.

"We will work together. I have been unjust to you. This taint will cover Philip for ever; it is but right. Had he-poor, unhappy boy!-But now our family must acknowledge its rightful heir."

And then the Earl, changing to another phase of thought, said

"Your education has not been neglected, I presume, although I never heard from Mrs Wade, with whom you were placed."

"His lordship knows how to use his words," thought Edgar. "You can ride?"

"I am a good horseman, your lordship," answered Edgar, with a smile.

"Shoot, fence, box?"

"Those accomplishments are not unknown to me."

"And you are very well known at the Bar. Umph !—legal knowledge will be useful in the House. We have hard times yet to come upon us, nous autres—we whose position others envy.” Then, again, suddenly he turned upon him

"And Philip-you can put yourself in his place? You want to know all, if you defend him; but I should advise you to leave it to others."

"So my old friend told me--I say old friend merely as a mode of speech. He told me to leave it to older heads and

cooler hearts than mine."

"A good phrase; a wise man that. Yes, the king is deadlong live the king! Poor Philip !-his desperate move has cost him all the game. You believe him guilty, I think you

said?"

Edgar bowed his head, and answered as he had replied to Old Forster

"My lord, I believe nothing. My mind is, as regards that, a blank. He must be defended."

"Ah!" said the old man, with a sigh, staring vaguely at the portrait of some bygone earl, who, in his ermine-trimmed robe, and his knee advanced on a footstool to show the Garter, pointed forward with some Bill of Rights or petition in his hand, as if it were a field marshal's bâton. "Ah! I wonder, now, if our ermine was often stained with blood in the olden time."

Then suddenly he arose, as if frightened by shadows.

“Come here, into his room—it may be yours soon—and let us plan the campaign for his relief."

66

CHAPTER XXXII.

A VERY SUCCESSFUL BENEFIT.

THE benefit of Mdlle. Natalie Fifine was more properly a bespeak," got up by the young lady in order to aid the funds of the Fifine family. The old bookseller on the Quai du Temple had heard of a good stroke of business to be done, and Natalie, as we know, was nothing loath to help him. A new operatic star was about to make her appearance, and a new ballet was to follow, in which the twinkling feet of Natalie were to appear.

The young lady, therefore, sought the fat and podgy Mr Dunn, the manager, who, in his faultless black suit, his white shirt, and new beaver hat-gentlemen did not in those days dream of wearing silk-looked like a ball of black satin standing at his own box door.

"Good morning, Mr Dunn," said Natalie. charmant, fine 'ealth, this morning."

"You are

"Quite so, m'am-zelle, quite so," said Mr Dunn, looking far away beyond and over the humble employée of his operatic troop.

It is curious how grand the manager can be to the artist; almost as curious as it is how subservient those great creatures, the artists, can be to the manager. An ordinary English workman shows about a dozen times as much independence

Q

as one of these God-gifted geniuses, except when the genius is up in the saddle; and then, indeed, he or she takes it out of the manager.

"I want to zpeak to you, Monsieur Dunn, about money."

"That's very shortly disposed of, then," said Dunn, brusquely. "I ain't got none. Treasury's pretty nigh empty. And besides "here he recalled his glances from the far-distant Coventry Street-"you don't draw as you ought, Fifine; you know you don't."

Even in those remote and dark days, managers were so advanced towards the great future claimed for women by Miss Becker and Lady Amberley, that they called their female artistes directly by their surnames. "I sez to Siddons, sez I," one would ejaculate; or "S'help me Moses, Jordan, you can lick the 'ead off some o' them hactors in a coat and breeches part." Similar elegances put all the lady artistes on a pleasing equality with the male sex. And this admirable and advanced state of matters actually exists between the artists themselves. Ladies call each other Belville or Montagu; and gentlemen, when on terms of familiarity, assure little Belville that she "spoke her lengths prime!" or whisper to Miss Montagu, in flattering terms, "I say, Montagu, by the holy poker, you topped that part like a rum 'un.”

So it happened that Mr Dunn was quite en règle when he reiterated, "You don't draw, Fifine, as you ought."

"But," added the lady, "money, Mr Dunn, money."

"Well, I can't give you none," said the manager. "The ghost don't walk till Friday.”

Thus, in theatrical phrase, the polite manager intimated that Friday was the pay day; and that, until that day, no part of Natalie's salary could be advanced.

"Oh, you funny little man," said the lady. "I mean, bringing money to you."

This was quite another aspect of the question, and Mr Dunn ceased to look up the Haymarket; and bringing his twinkling little eyes to the level of the actress's face, said

"What's up now?"

Hereupon the artless Natalie proposed her plan; which was that she should advertise a benefit, and get as many of her

admirers as she could into the house, selling the tickets herself, and paying half the proceeds into the treasury.

This was quite a legitimate proceeding; and as Mr Dunn had been more than once accused of selling pass-keys to old and young gentlemen-patrons of the art, of course—so that they could study both the art and the artistes behind the scenes, it is not to be wondered at if he at once acceded. Miss Natalie was prepared with her list of names. There was the Viscount Montcastel, an Irish nobleman, who was clipping his estates in the prosecution of his histrionic studies; the Honourable Captain Poncho, of the Guards; Mr Edgar Wade, and other gentlemen upon whose patronage the danseuse could count; and the little Frenchwoman showed herself so quick at accounts, and so ready with her plan, that Mr Dunn looked at her with respect, and assured her, in gratifying terms, that "she was a clever little devil," and that she would rise in the world.

Upon this Natalie made a little moue at the manager, heaved a little sigh, which made Mr Dunn's eyes twinkle, and walked off towards Soho, to get her tickets printed.

As she went along, walking with a quick, active, graceful step, she caused the young bucks in Hessian boots, or trousers tight at the knees and loose over the instep of their Wellington boots, to look round at her. With that ready appreciation of beauty which all Englishmen pride themselves upon, some pronounced her "a high stepper," a "neat little filly;" and some said to their companions, "Egad, why that's a Fwenchwoman, Fwank," or "Fwedewick," as the case might be.

Meantime, on she went. The smile died out of her face; the bright eyes looked sadly through the beautiful mask; and she complained to herself that she was morne and triste in this detestable England. If she could get enough money only for the mother and the old father, she would be back, she said, to La belle France. Paris to her was Paradise: all other countries she looked upon as mere hunting grounds whereon she could pick up her beloved gold. Was she very different from others? Have not poets, statesmen, fiddlers, and buffoons, in this best of all possible worlds, the same object at heart as the beautiful Fifine?

The benefit plan succeeded admirably. Other artistes, who did not unite business tact with their histrionic talent, wondered why the little Frenchwoman should have a benefit. The manager was accused of favouritism. The press was known, by some people who know everything, to have been bribed. Underhand dealings were largely hinted at. One of the male artists-who were just as jealous of a lady labourer in the holy cause of amusing the British public as they were of one of their own sex-spoke in ambiguous terms of his knowledge "how the affair was done!" In the meantime, two or three judicious gifts of free tickets gained two or three paragraphs, in which the editor professed himself rejoiced to see that the very talented young lady would take her first benefit. And some of these gentlemen-whom, it is needless to say, were not the editors-prophesied that, from the array of talent called to her aid-the bills had not the addition of a single celebrity-the benefit would be a bumper.

Fifine's end was gained. Her name was printed prominently a dozen or so times; slips from the English papers were cut out and sent to Paris; and the friends whom she could rely on bought many of her tickets, and gave them away to their friends-friends who are always so glad to fill a house when they gain an entrance for nothing, and who go to see the dullest piece with a wonderful zeal, provided that it costs them no money.

Mr Dunn's new star-who, of course, had made her appearance at the San Carlo, and had created a furore at Paris, without which no singer, however great, can be expected to please the English public, which yet tenaciously believes that it depends upon its unbiased opinion-was a success; and Mdlle. Fifine's friends were delighted to find that they had paid their money for a real treat. Part of the splendour of the triumph was put down to her share; and the astute Mr Dunn, while he complimented the new Prima Donna, took credit for "backing" her up with a splendid ballet, and for packing the house, so as to insure a reception.

The Prima Donna-who happened to be a genius, and as simple as a child-took everything in good part, and told Mr Dunn that he was the prince of entrepreneurs.