ould make them.--Give me a thousand francs, and don't talk
nonsense."

Worthy Monsieur Rivet went home, delighted for poor Mademoiselle
Fischer, who dined with him every Monday, and whom he found waiting for
him.

"If you can only make him work," said he, "you will have more luck than
wisdom; you will be repaid, interest, capital, and costs. This Pole has
talent, he can make a living; but lock up his trousers and his shoes,
do not let him go to the _Chaumiere_ or the parish of Notre-Dame
de Lorette, keep him in leading-strings. If you do not take such
precautions, your artist will take to loafing, and if you only knew what
these artists mean by loafing! Shocking! Why, I have just heard that
they will spend a thousand-franc note in a day!"

This episode had a fatal influence on the home-life of Wenceslas and
Lisbeth. The benefactress flavored the exile's bread with the wormwood
of reproof, now that she saw her money in danger, and often believed
it to be lost. From a kind mother she became a stepmother; she took the
poor boy to task, she nagged him, scolded him for working too slowly,
and blamed him for having chosen so difficult a profession. She could
not believe that those models in red wax--little figures and sketches
for ornamental work--could be of any value. Before long, vexed with
herself for her severity, she would try to efface the tears by her care
and attention.

Then the poor young man, after groaning to think that he was dependent
on this shrew and under the thumb of a peasant of the Vosges, was
bewitched by her coaxing ways and by a maternal affection that attached
itself solely to the physical and material side of life. He was like
a woman who forgives a week of ill-usage for the sake of a kiss and a
brief reconciliation.

Thus Mademoiselle Fischer obtained complete power over his mind. The
love of dominion that lay as a germ in the old maid's heart developed
rapidly. She could now satisfy her pride and her craving for action; had
she not a creature belonging to her, to be schooled, scolded, flattered,
and made happy, without any fear of a rival? Thus the good and bad sides
of her nature alike found play. If she sometimes victimized the poor
artist, she had, on the other hand, delicate impulses like the grace
of wild flowers; it was a joy to her to provide for all his wants; she
would have given her life for him, and Wenceslas knew it. Like every
noble soul, the poor fellow forgot the bad points, th