ing, and pressure needed
for the work, all hidden under grace of movement, while she adapted each
motion to the result with the lucidity of instinct.

"I could not tire of admiring her as she shaped a flower from the
materials sorted before her, padding the wire stem and adjusting the
leaves. She displayed the genius of a painter in her bold attempts;
she copied faded flowers and yellowing leaves; she struggled even with
wildflowers, the most artless of all, and the most elaborate in their
simplicity.

"'This art,' she would say, 'is in its infancy. If the women of Paris
had a little of the genius which the slavery of the harem brings out in
Oriental women, they would lend a complete language of flowers to the
wreaths they wear on their head. To please my own taste as an artist I
have made drooping flowers with leaves of the hue of Florentine bronze,
such as are found before or after the winter. Would not such a crown
on the head of a young woman whose life is a failure have a certain
poetical fitness? How many things a woman might express by her
head-dress! Are there not flowers for drunken Bacchantes, flowers
for gloomy and stern bigots, pensive flowers for women who are bored?
Botany, I believe, may be made to express every sensation and thought of
the soul, even the most subtle.'

"She would employ me to stamp out the leaves, cut up material, and
prepare wires for the stems. My affected desire for occupation made me
soon skilful. We talked as we worked. When I had nothing to do, I read
new books to her, for I had my part to keep up as a man weary of life,
worn out with griefs, gloomy, sceptical, and soured. My person led to
adorable banter as to my purely physical resemblance--with the exception
of his club foot--to Lord Byron. It was tacitly acknowledged that
her own troubles, as to which she kept the most profound silence, far
outweighed mine, though the causes I assigned for my misanthropy might
have satisfied Young or Job.

"I will say nothing of the feelings of shame which tormented me as I
inflicted on my heart, like the beggars in the street, false wounds to
excite the compassion of that enchanting woman. I soon appreciated the
extent of my devotedness by learning to estimate the baseness of a spy.
The expressions of sympathy bestowed on me would have comforted the
greatest grief. This charming creature, weaned from the world, and for
so many years alone, having, besides love, treasures of kindliness
to