this branch of his art.

This man took a great fancy to Madelon, in the first instance
from hearing how prettily and deftly she spoke English; and
she, after holding herself aloof in dignified reserve for
three days from this new acquaintance, was suddenly won over
in a visit to his _atelier_, which henceforth became to her a
sort of wonderland, a treasure domain, where she might come
and go as she pleased, and where, from beneath much
accumulated dust, persevering fingers might extract inimagined
prizes, in the shape of sketches, drawings, plaster casts,
prints, and divers queer possessions of different kinds. After
this, she soon became fast friends with the American, who was
very kind and good-natured to her, and M. Linders' promise
that she should see all the churches in Florence was fulfilled
by the artist. He took her to visit both them and the
galleries, showed her the famous pictures, and told her the
names of their painters; and the genuine reverence with which
he gazed on them, his ever-fresh enjoyment and appreciation of
them, impressed her, child as she was, far more than any mere
expressions of admiration or technical explanations of their
merits would have done.

Sometimes, if she accompanied him to any of the churches where
he happened to be copying a picture, he would leave her to
wander about alone, and they were strange weird hours that she
spent in this way. She did not indeed again assist at any of
the great church ceremonies, but the silent spaces of these
chill, grand, solemn interiors impressed her scarcely less
with a sense of mysterious awe. Tapers twinkled in dim side