painstaking men. As soon as Gabriel had found him out, and entreated
refuge from his fear of his father, the painter clasped him tight in his
great slovenly arms, sold a Venus half-price to buy him a bed and a
washstand, and swore a tremendous oath that the son of his poor
guillotined sister should share the last shilling in his pocket, the last
drop in his can.

Gabriel, fresh from the cheer of Laughton, and spoiled by the prodigal
gifts of Lucretia, had little gratitude for shillings and porter.
Nevertheless, he condescended to take what he could get, while he sighed,
from the depths of a heart in which cupidity and vanity had become the
predominant rulers, for a destiny more worthy his genius, and more in
keeping with the sphere from which he had descended.

The boy finished his sketch, with an impudent wink at the model, flung
himself back on his chair, folded his arms, cast a discontented glance at
the whitened seams of the sleeves, and soon seemed lost in his own
reflections. The painter worked on in silence. The model, whom
Gabriel's wink had aroused, half-flattered, half-indignant for a moment,
lapsed into a doze. Outside the window, you heard the song of a canary,-
-a dingy, smoke-coloured canary that seemed shedding its plumes, for they
were as ragged as the garments of its master; still, it contrived to
sing, trill-trill-trill-trill-trill, as blithely as if free in its native
woods, or pampered by fair hands in a gilded cage. The bird was the only
true artist there, it sang as the poet sings,--to obey its nature and
vent its heart. Trill-trill-trillela-la-la-trill-trill, went the song,--
louder, gayer than usual; for there was a gleam of April sunshine
struggling over the rooftops. The song at length roused up Gabriel; he
turned his chair round, laid his head on one side, listened, and looked
curiously at the bird.