and of a stout lady in a black silk dress and with a vacant smile; and
by hook or by crook he managed to scrape together a few hundred francs,
with which once more he might return to Paris. But before he did so, he
married again, this time more wisely. His wife, Catharine Lemaire, was a
brave and good woman, who knew how to appreciate her husband, and to
second him well in all his further struggles and endeavours. They went
for a while to Havre, where Millet, in despair of getting better work,
and not ashamed of doing anything honest to pay his way, actually took
to painting sign-boards. In this way he saved money enough to make a
fresh start in Paris. There, he continued his hard battle against the
taste of the time; for French art was then dominated by the influence of
men like Delaroche, or like Delacroix and Horace Vernet, who had
accustomed the public to pictures of a very lofty, a very romantic, or a
very fiery sort; and there were few indeed who cared for stern and
sympathetic delineations of the French peasant's unlovely life of
unremitting toil, such as Millet loved to set before them. Yet, in spite
of discouragement, he did well to follow out this inner prompting of his
own soul; for in that direction he could do his best work--and the best
work is always the best worth doing in the long run. There are some
minds, of which Franklin's is a good type, so versatile and so shifty
that they can turn with advantage to any opening that chances to offer,
no matter in what direction; and such minds do right in seizing every
opportunity, wherever it occurs. But there are other minds, of which
Gibson and Millet are excellent examples, naturally restricted to
certain definite lines of thought or work; and such minds do right in
persistently following up their own native talent, and refusing to be
led aside by circumstances into any less natural or less promising
channel.

While living in Paris at this time, Millet painted several of his