that had caught his eye.

"Yes," answered the old man. "They came to us from the Descoings, who
bought them during the Revolution, when the convents and churches in
Berry were dismantled."

Joseph was not listening; he was lost in admiration of the pictures.

"Magnificent!" he cried. "Oh! what painting! that fellow didn't spoil
his canvas. Dear, dear! better and better, as it is at Nicolet's--"

"There are seven or eight very large ones up in the garret, which were
kept on account of the frames," said Gilet.

"Let me see them!" cried the artist; and Max took him upstairs.

Joseph came down wildly enthusiastic. Max whispered a word to the
Rabouilleuse, who took the old man into the embrasure of a window,
where Joseph heard her say in a low voice, but still so that he could
hear the words:--

"Your nephew is a painter; you don't care for those pictures; be kind,
and give them to him."

"It seems," said Jean-Jacques, leaning on Flore's arm to reach the
place were Joseph was standing in ecstasy before an Albano, "--it seems
that you are a painter--"

"Only a 'rapin,'" said Joseph.