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 began to loom as a possible Eldorado through the gloom and uncertainty surrounding her in the old one.

Before the end of 1848, however, the prospect of an Empire in France improved the artistic outlook, and we find her writing again to Sarah in better spirits:—"Tell me all the fun that is going on. I long to laugh, and declare you my witty and wise buffoon; decide yourself what the salary of the appointment shall be. I have made up my mind to enjoy life as much as I possibly can before I return. Away, dull care! Forward! march to the roll of drums, and, like the clown in the pantomime, make three somersaults backwards, with a 'Here I am again!' I love you, and embrace you hurriedly, for I am off to act Camille." Though only a Frenchwoman by adoption, Rachel had much in common with that changeable, volatile race, registering like a barometer every variation in the social or political horizon.

Meantime, her brother Raphaël, once the idea of going to America had been mooted, did not allow the scheme to fall to the ground. He aspired to be the impresario of the expedition, which he felt certain would produce an incalculable pile of dollars for his own and his sister's benefit. Rachel's extraordinary success in her last dramatic campaign in Russia had fired his imagination afresh. If such a harvest were to be reaped in Europe, what might they not expect in America, where Jenny Lind, although not gifted with the world-wide fame of Rachel, had just made a fortune?

For some time the young actress did not allow herself to be persuaded by his arguments. The story went, that the only deep attachment she had ever