with a blush, held out to the young man a pretty Algerine purse containing sixty gold pieces. The artist, with something still of a gentleman’s pride, responded with a mounting color easy enough to interpret.
“This, perhaps, is the first money your works have brought you?” said Adeline.
“Yes, madame – my works of art. It is not the first-fruits of my labor, for I have been a workman.”
“Well, we must hope my daughter’s money will bring you good luck,” said she.
“And take it without scruple,” added the Baron, seeing that Wenceslas held the purse in his hand instead of pocketing it. “The sum will be repaid by some rich man, a prince perhaps, who will offer it with interest to possess so fine a work.”
“Oh, I want it too much myself, papa, to give it up to anybody in the world, even a royal prince!”
“I can make a far prettier thing than that for you, mademoiselle.”
“But it would not be this one,” replied she; and then, as if ashamed of having said too much, she ran out into the garden.
“Then I shall break the mould and the model as soon as I go home,” said Steinbock.
“Fetch me your papers, and you will hear of me before long, if you are equal to what I expect of you, monsieur.”
The artist on this could but take leave. After bowing to Madame Hulot and Hortense, who came in from the garden on purpose, he went off to walk in the Tuileries, not bearing – not daring – to return to his attic, where his tyrant would pelt him with questions and wring his secret from him.
Hortense’s adorer conceived of groups and statues by the hundred; he felt strong enough to hew the marble himself, like Canova, who was also a feeble man, and nearly died of it. He was transfigured by Hortense, who was to him inspiration made visible.
“Now then,” said the Baroness to her daughter, “what does all this mean?”
“Well, dear mamma, you have just seen Cousin Lisbeth’s lover, who now, I hope, is mine. But shut your eyes, know nothing. Good Heavens! I was to keep it all from you, and I cannot help telling you everything – ”
“Good-bye, children!” said the Baron, kissing his wife and daughter; “I shall perhaps go to call on the Nanny, and from her I shall hear a great deal about our young man.”
“Papa, be cautious!” said Hortense.
“Oh! little girl!” cried the Baroness when Hortense had poured out her poem, of which the morning’s adventure was the last canto, “dear little girl, Artlessness will always be the artfulest puss on earth!”
Genuine passions have an unerring instinct. Set a greedy man before a dish of fruit and he will make no mistake, but take the choicest even without seeing it. In the same way, if you allow a girl who is well brought up to choose a husband for herself, if she is in a position to meet the man of her heart, rarely will she blunder. The act of nature in such cases is known as love at first sight; and in love, first sight is practically second sight.
The Baroness’ satisfaction, though disguised under maternal dignity, was as great as her daughter’s; for, of the three ways of marrying Hortense of which Crevel had spoken, the best, as she opined, was about to be realized. And she regarded this little drama as an answer by Providence to her fervent prayers.
Mademoiselle Fischer’s galley slave, obliged at last to go home, thought he might hide his joy as a lover under his glee as an artist rejoicing over his first success.
“Victory! my group is sold to the Duc d’Herouville, who is going to give me some commissions,” cried he, throwing the twelve hundred francs in gold on the table before the old maid.
He had, as may be supposed concealed Hortense’s purse; it lay next to his heart.
“And a very good thing too,” said Lisbeth. “I was working myself to death. You see, child, money comes in slowly in the business you have taken up, for this is the first you have earned, and you have been grinding at it for near on five years now. That money barely repays me for what you have cost me since I took your promissory note; that is all I have got by my savings. But be sure of one thing,” she said, after counting the gold, “this money will all be spent on you. There is enough there to keep us going for a year. In a year you may now be able to pay your debt and have a snug little sum of your own, if you go on in the same way.”
Wenceslas, finding his trick successful, expatiated on the Duc d’Herouville.
“I will fit you out in a black suit, and get you some new linen,” said Lisbeth, “for you must appear presentably before your patrons; and then you must have a larger and better apartment than your horrible garret, and furnish it property. – You look so bright, you are not like the same creature,” she added, gazing at Wenceslas.
“But my work is pronounced a masterpiece.”
“Well, so much the better! Do some more,” said the arid creature, who was nothing but practical, and incapable of understanding the joy of triumph or of beauty in Art. “Trouble your head no further about what you have sold; make something else to sell. You have spent two hundred francs in money, to say nothing of your time and your labor, on that devil of a Samson. Your clock will cost you more than two thousand francs to execute. I tell you what, if you will listen to me, you will finish the two little boys crowning the little girl with cornflowers; that would just suit the Parisians. – I will go round to Monsieur Graff the tailor before going to Monsieur Crevel. – Go up now and leave me to dress.”
Next day the Baron, perfectly crazy about Madame Marneffe, went to see Cousin Betty, who was considerably amazed on opening the door to see who her visitor was, for he had never called on her before. She at once said to herself, “Can it be that Hortense wants my lover?” – for she had heard the evening before, at Monsieur Crevel’s, that the marriage with the Councillor of the Supreme Court was broken off.
“What, Cousin! you here? This is the first time you have ever been to see me, and it is certainly not for love of my fine eyes that you have come now.”
“Fine eyes is the truth,” said the Baron; “you have as fine eyes as I have ever seen – ”
“Come, what are you here for? I really am ashamed to receive you in such a kennel.”
The outer room of the two inhabited by Lisbeth served her as sitting-room, dining-room, kitchen, and workroom. The furniture was such as beseemed a well-to-do artisan – walnut-wood chairs with straw seats, a small walnut-wood dining table, a work table, some colored prints in black wooden frames, short muslin curtains to the windows, the floor well polished and shining with cleanliness, not a speck of dust anywhere, but all cold and dingy, like a picture by Terburg in every particular, even to the gray tone given by a wall paper once blue and now faded to gray. As to the bedroom, no human being had ever penetrated its secrets.
The Baron took it all in at a glance, saw the sign-manual of commonness on every detail, from the cast-iron stove to the household utensils, and his gorge rose as he said to himself, “And this is virtue! – What am I here for?” said he aloud. “You are far too cunning not to guess, and I had better tell you plainly,” cried he, sitting down and looking out across the courtyard through an opening he made in the puckered curtain. “There is a very pretty woman in the house – ”
“Madame Marneffe! Now I understand!” she exclaimed,
