float. It seemed pillowed on invisible clouds.

"_Matre"_, said Leighton, "I want that. How much?"

Le Brux moved over beside the cast. As he approached it, Lewis stared at
his bulk, at his hairy chest, showing at the open neck of his smock, at
his great, nervous hands, and wondered if this could be the creator of
so soft a dream in clay.

"Bah! That?" said Le Brux. "It is only a trifle. Take it. It is thine."

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Leighton. "You lend me the arm, and
I'll lend you a thousand francs."

"Done!" cried Le Brux, with a laugh that shook heaven and earth. "Ah,
rascal, thou knowest that I never pay."

As they went the rounds of the atelier, Lewis saw that his father was
growing nervous. Finally, Leighton drew from his pocket the little kid
and its two broken legs. He held the lot out to Le Brux. The fragments
seemed to dwindle to pin-points in Le Brux's vast hand.

"Well," he asked, "what's this?"

Leighton nodded toward Lewis,

"My boy made that."

Le Brux glanced down at his hand. A glint of interest lighted his eyes
and passed. Then a tremendous frown darkened his brow.