artisans, who end by dying in the workhouse. No, no, make a fortune,
and then, when you have money in the funds, you may amuse yourself,
child; then you will have enough to pay for the doctor and for your
pleasure, libertine that you are."

Wenceslas Steinbock, on receiving this broadside, with an
accompaniment of looks that pierced him like a magnetic flame, bent
his head. The most malignant slanderer on seeing this scene would at
once have understood that the hints thrown out by the Oliviers were
false. Everything in this couple, their tone, manner, and way of
looking at each other, proved the purity of their private live. The
old maid showed the affection of rough but very genuine maternal
feeling; the young man submitted, as a respectful son yields to the
tyranny of a mother. The strange alliance seemed to be the outcome of
a strong will acting constantly on a weak character, on the fluid
nature peculiar to the Slavs, which, while it does not hinder them
from showing heroic courage in battle, gives them an amazing
incoherency of conduct, a moral softness of which physiologists ought
to try to detect the causes, since physiologists are to political life
what entomologists are to agriculture.

"But if I die before I am rich?" said Wenceslas dolefully.

"Die!" cried she. "Oh, I will not let you die. I have life enough for
both, and I would have my blood injected into your veins if
necessary."

Tears rose to Steinbock's eyes as he heard her vehement and artless
speech.