men are humbugs. They are people with a
mission--which they cannot carry out."

"Humbug or not," replied the other, "you came very near passing the
night in the fields; and, for my part, I live in terror of starvation. I
should think it was a man's mission to think twice about his wife. But
it appears not. Nothing is their mission but to play the fool. Oh!" she
broke out, "is it not something dreary to think of that man of mine? If
he could only do it, who would care? But no--not he--no more than I
can!"

"Have you any children?" asked Elvira.

"No; but then I may."

"Children change so much," said Elvira, with a sigh.

And just then from the room below there flew up a sudden snapping chord
on the guitar; one followed after another; then the voice of Leon joined
in; and there was an air being played and sung that stopped the speech
of the two women. The wife of the painter stood like a person
transfixed; Elvira, looking into her eyes, could see all manner of
beautiful memories and kind thoughts that were passing in and out of
her soul with every note; it was a piece of her youth that went before
her; a green French plain, the smell of apple-flowers, the far and
shining ringlets of a river, and the words and presence of love.

"Leon has hit the nail," thought Elvira to herself. "I wonder how."

The how was plain enough. Leon had asked the painter if there were no
air connected with courtship and pleasant times; and having learned what
he wished, and allowed an interval to pass, he had soared forth into

"O mon amante,
O mon desir,
Sachons cueillir
L'heure charmante!"

"Pardon me, Madame," said the painter's wife, "your husband sings
admirably well."

"He sings that with some feeling," replied Elvira critically, although
she was a little moved herself, for the song cut both ways in the upper
chamber; "but it is as an actor and not as a musician."

"Life is very sad," said the other; "it so wastes away under one's
fingers."

"I have not found it so," replied Elvira. "I think the good parts of it
last and grow greater every day."

"Frankly, how would you advise me?"

"Frankly, I would let my husband do what he wished. He is obviously a
very loving painter; you have not yet tried him as a clerk. And you
know--if it were only as the possible father of your children--it is as
well to keep him at his best."

"He is an excellent fellow," said the wife.

They kept it up till sunrise with mu