from the column it surmounted
so well.

At the end of ten minutes the sweat stood in drops on Joseph's forehead.
At that moment a bald-headed little man, pale and sickly in appearance,
entered the atelier, where respectful silence reigned at once.

"What you are about, you urchins?" he exclaimed, as he looked at the
youthful martyr.

"That is a good little fellow, who is posing," said the tall pupil who
had placed Joseph.

"Are you not ashamed to torture a poor child in that way?" said Chaudet,
lowering Joseph's arms. "How long have you been standing there?" he
asked the boy, giving him a friendly little pat on the cheek.

"A quarter of an hour."

"What brought you here?"

"I want to be an artist."

"Where do you belong? where do you come from?"

"From mamma's house."

"Oh! mamma!" cried the pupils.

"Silence at the easels!" cried Chaudet. "Who is your mamma?"

"She is Madame Bridau. My papa, who is dead, was a friend of the
Emperor; and if you will teach me to draw, the Emperor will pay all you
ask for it."

"His father was head of a department at the ministry of the Interior,"
exclaimed Chaudet, struck by a recollection. "So you want to be an
artist, at your age?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Well, come here just as much as you like; we'll amuse you. Give him a
board, and paper, and chalks, and let him alone. You are to know, you
young scamps, that his father did me a service. Here, Corde-a-puits,
go and get some cakes and sugar-plums," he said to the pupil who had
tortured Joseph, giving him some small change. "We'll see if you are to
be artist by the way you gobble up the dainties," added the sculptor,
chucking Joseph under the chin.

Then he went round examining the pupils' works, followed by the child,
who looked and listened, and tried to understand him. The sweets were
brought, Chaudet, himself, the child, and the whole studio all had
their teeth in them; and Joseph was petted quite as much as he had
been teased. The whole scene, in which the rough play and real heart of
artists were revealed, and which the boy instinctively understood, made
a great impression on his mind. The apparition of the sculptor,--for
whom the Emperor's protection opened a way to future glory, closed soon
after by his premature death,--was like a vision to little Joseph. The
child said nothing to his mother about this adventure, but he spent two
hours every Sunday and every Thursday in Chaudet's atelier. From
that time for