out their hands to France, as the souls in Purgatory do to Paradise.
In what other country is such help to be found, and generous hearts
even in such a garret as this? You will be everything to me, my
beloved benefactress; I am your slave! Be my sweetheart," he added,
with one of the caressing gestures familiar to the Poles, for which
they are unjustly accused of servility.

"Oh, no; I am too jealous, I should make you unhappy; but I will
gladly be a sort of comrade," replied Lisbeth.

"Ah, if only you knew how I longed for some fellow-creature, even a
tyrant, who would have something to say to me when I was struggling in
the vast solitude of Paris!" exclaimed Wenceslas. "I regretted
Siberia, whither I should be sent by the Emperor if I went home.--Be
my Providence!--I will work; I will be a better man than I am, though
I am not such a bad fellow!"

"Will you do whatever I bid you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Well, then, I will adopt you as my child," said she lightly. "Here I
am with a son risen from the grave. Come! we will begin at once. I
will go out and get what I want; you can dress, and come down to
breakfast with me when I knock on the ceiling with the broomstick."

That day, Mademoiselle Fischer made some inquiries, at the houses to
which she carried her work home, as to the business of a sculptor. By
dint of many questions she ended by hearing of the studio kept by
Florent and Chanor, a house that made a special business of casting