the Louvre--not caring to reveal his
ignorance by asking the way.

It was several days before Fate led him along the Seine and he found
himself on the Pont Neuf. The palace stretching out before him had a
familiar look. He stopped and stared. There were the palaces where
history had been made. He knew the Tuileries and he knew the Louvre--he
had seen pictures of both.

He walked out across the Place de la Concorde, and seeing others enter,
made his way through the gates of the sacred precinct.

He was in the Palace of the Louvre; he had found the way, unaided and
alone.

His deep religious nature was moved, and taking off his cap he crossed
himself in a silent prayer of gratitude.

What his sensations were he partially pictured to his friend Sensier
thirty years after: "It seemed as though I had at last attained,
achieved. My feelings were too great for words, and I closed my eyes,
lest I be dazzled by the sight and then dare not open them lest I should
find it all a dream. And if I ever reach Paradise I know my joy will be
no greater than it was that first morning when I realized that I stood
within the Louvre Palace."

For a week Millet visited the Louvre every day.

When the doors were unlocked each morning he was waiting on the steps;
and he did not leave in the afternoon until the attendant warned him it
was time to go.

He lingered long before the "Raffaellos" and stood in the "Rubens
Gallery" dumb with wonder and admiration.

There were various people copying pictures here and there. He watched
them furtively, and after seeing one young man working at an easel in a
certain place for a week, he approached and talked with him.

Jean Francois told his history and the young man listened patiently. He
advised that it would be foolish to go back to Gruchy at once. The youth
should go to some master and show what he could do--remain and study for
a little while at least; in fact, he himself would take him to Delaroche.
Things looked brighter; and arrangements were made to meet on the morrow
and go interview the master.

Delaroche was found and proved kindly. He examined the two sketches that
Jean Francois submitted, asked a few questions, and graciously led the
new applicant into the atelier, where a score of young men were
sketching, and set him to work.

The letter written by Jean to the good old grandmother that night hinted
at great plans for the future, and told of love, and of hope that was
dauntl