of luxury and in parading the insensibility of their hearts. The smile
which flickered on her lips brightened as with gold the darkness of
the garret and rivalled the effulgence of the skies; for the sun did
not always shine in the heavens, but she was always here,--calm and
collected in her passion, living in his happiness, his griefs;
sustaining the genius which overflowed in love ere it found in art its
destined expression.

"Listen, Gillette; come!"

The obedient, happy girl sprang lightly on the painter's knee. She was
all grace and beauty, pretty as the spring-time, decked with the
wealth of feminine charm, and lighting all with the fire of a noble
soul.

"O God!" he exclaimed, "I can never tell her!"

"A secret!" she cried; "then I must know it."

Poussin was lost in thought.

"Tell me."

"Gillette, poor, beloved heart!"

"Ah! do you want something of me?"

"Yes."

"If you want me to pose as I did the other day," she said, with a