Here, the law protects all citizens; and no
one is allowed to do justice for himself."

"He has made himself the head of a singular nation," said Bartolomeo,
taking Lucien's hand and pressing it. "But you have both recognized me
in misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may
dispose as you will of the Piombos."

With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in
satisfaction.

"You are not badly off here," he said, smiling, as if he meant to lodge
there himself. "You are all in red, like a cardinal."

"Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also,"
said Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. "It will often
happen that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can confide."

A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his
hand to the First Consul, saying:--

"The Corsican is in you still."

Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it
were, a waft of air from his own land,--from that isle where he had been
so miraculously saved from the hatred of the "English party"; the land
he was never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who then took
Piombo away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the financial condition
of the former protector of their family. Piombo took him to a window and
showed him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a heap of stones.

"We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny," he
said.

Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him the
next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of
the family. The value of Piombo's property in Corsica, if sold, would
scarcely maintain him honorably in Paris.

Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo's arrival with his
family in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely
intelligible to the reader without this narrative of the foregoing
circumstances.

CHAPTER II. THE STUDIO

Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to conceive
of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to take
lessons in painting.

About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given up
to his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter of
a general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their daughters
themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send them alone,
after knowing the master's princi