wo steps at a
time. As he approached the atelier, he heard sighing groans. He threw
open the door without knocking. Stretched on the couch was the giant
frame, wallowing feebly like a harpooned whale at the last gasp.

"_Matre!_" cried Leighton.

The sculptor half raised himself, turned a worn face on Leighton, and
then burst into a tremendous laugh--one of those laughs that is so
violent as to be painful.

"Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!" he roared, and fell back upon his side.

Leighton felt somebody pecking at his arm. He turned, to find the old
concierge beside him.

"Oh, sir," she almost wept, "can't you do something? He has been like
that all day."

"Go," he said, "bring me a pail of water." He stood watching Le Brux
until she returned. "Now," he said, "go out and close the door after
you."

"Don't be rough with him," sighed the fat concierge as she waddled
toward the door, drying her hands on her apron.

"Le Brux," said Leighton, "Le Brux!"

"Yes, I hear," gasped the sculptor, his eyes tight shut.

"Le Brux, where is your wound?"

"My wound? Ha! my wound! He would know where is my wound! Here, here, my
old one, here!" He passed his two hands over his shaking ribs.

"Well, then," said Leighton, "take that!" and he dashed the pail of
water over the prostrate giant.

Le Brux gasped, gulped, and then sat up on the couch. He suddenly became
very grave. Water trickled off his chin upon his hairy chest. The soaked
smock clung to his arms and legs, accentuating the tremendous muscles.
"M'sieu' Letonne," he said, with alarming calm, "you have committed an
unpardonable impertinence. At the same time you have unwittingly saved
my life. You have heard of men, strong men, laughing themselves to
death?"

Leighton, who had seated himself, bowed.

"Well," continued Le Brux, "I can assure you that you and your pail of
slops arrived only in time to avert a tragedy. That fact entitles itself
to recognition, and I am consequently going to tell you all that has
happened before we part--definitely."

Leighton bowed again.

"As you prophesied, your boy won his way into my foolish heart. I used
him as a model frequently, and let him hang around me in my idle
moments. I even gave him clay to play with, and he played with it to
some effect, his great fault--and it is a very great one--being a
tendency to do things in miniature. I reproved him good-naturedly--for
me, and he so far improved as to model a horse--the size of t