Gabriel rose cheerfully, as if only alive to the expectation of the bon-
bons and compliments he received habitually from Madame Bellanger.

"And you can take your drawing implements with you," continued Dalibard.
"This good M. Bellanger has given you permission to copy his Poussin."

"His Poussin! Ah, that is placed in his bedroom [It is scarcely
necessary to observe that bedchambers in Paris, when forming part of the
suite of reception-rooms, are often decorated no less elaborately than
the other apartments], is it not?"

"Yes," answered Dalibard, briefly.

Gabriel lifted his sharp, bright eyes to his father's face. Dalibard
turned away.

"Come!" he said with some impatience; and the boy took up his hat.

In another minute Lucretia was alone.

"Alone," in an English home, is a word implying no dreary solitude to an
accomplished woman; but alone in that foreign land, alone in those half-
furnished, desolate apartments,--few books, no musical instruments, no
companions during the day to drop in,--that loneliness was wearying. And
that mind so morbidly active! In the old Scottish legend, the spirit
that serves the wizard must be kept constantly employed; suspend its work
for a moment, and it rends the enchanter. It is so with minds that crave
for excitement, and live, without relief of heart and affection, on the
hard tasks of the intellect.