of a great artist
perhaps exist in me too; but criticism, conceit and suspicion kept them
forever apart. Well, it is no disgrace to bow to a law of nature.
Raphael's father was a miserable dauber, the elder Mozart played his
part in the orchestra very badly, and Beethoven's papa too, was by no
means a shining light. It's very possible that it was uncomfortable
enough for these worthy men to produce nothing remarkable, till they
perceived that they had the honor of being transition points, only the
retorts as it were, in which nature brewed the elixir of life, which
under the name of their sons were to rejuvenate and bless the world?_

"_While saying these words, he gazed at the little boy who was trotting
along very quietly beside the gutter, eating a cake, with a look
through whose tenderness gleamed a shade of respect, which would have
been laughable, if it were not so touching to see it in our old
friend._

"'_What's his talent?' I asked at last._

"_'We're not yet clear about it,' he answered gravely. 'Like every
unusually gifted person he has more than one eminent talent, and we
allow them all to develop together. His memory and his musical ear are
wonderful. Besides, he has a power of language of which many a boy of
six need not be ashamed, and his perception of form and color is beyond
all belief. You think me one of those fathers who are crazed by blind
partiality; I can't blame you for it, nor will I attack your unbelief
with a succession of tricks to display his genius; we take care not to
spoil so delicate and rich a nature by training it for a prodigy. As
you see him there, eating his cake and bounding merrily about in the
sunlight, we leave him entirely to himself, and my whole method of
education consists in not telling or teaching him anything, until he
asks for information. In ten years, we'll talk about him again.'_

"_'And Christiane?' I asked._

"_'You'll not recognize her,' he said laughing softly, like a person
already rejoicing in another's anticipated astonishment. 'I know you've
never understood why, from our first meeting, I didn't think her
homely; you laughed at me when I said her face was only clouded by
sorrow and calamity, and that when this dark varnish was removed a
pleasing picture would appear. Well, "who laughs last laughs best."
You'll see her and judge for yourself, whether the process of
regeneration has not been thoroughly completed in her. It's no wonder
either; for how she