who was as free from "superstition" as
himself, and selected the painter David. That person, as hideous as
his pupil, and whose dispositions were as vicious as his professional
abilities were undeniable, was certainly as free from "superstition" as
the protector could desire. It was reserved for Robespierre hereafter
to make the sanguinary painter believe in the Etre Supreme. The boy
was early sensible of his ugliness, which was almost preternatural. His
benefactor found it in vain to reconcile him to the malice of Nature by
his philosophical aphorisms; but when he pointed out to him that in
this world money, like charity, covers a multitude of defects, the boy
listened eagerly and was consoled. To save money for his protege,--for
the only thing in the world he loved,--this became the patron's passion.
Verily, he had met with his reward.

"But I am thankful he has escaped," said the old man, wiping his eyes.
"Had he left me a beggar, I could never have accused him."

"No, for you are the author of his crimes."

"How! I, who never ceased to inculcate the beauty of virtue? Explain
yourself."

"Alas! if thy pupil did not make this clear to thee last night from his
own lips, an angel might come from heaven to preach to thee in vain."

The old man moved uneasily, and was about to reply, when the relative he
had sent for--and who, a native of Nancy, happened to be at Paris at the
time--entered the room. He was a man somewhat past thirty, and of a dry,
saturnine, meagre countenance, restless eyes, and compressed lips. He
listened, with many ejaculations of horror, to his relation's recital,
and sought earnestly, but in vain, to induce him to give information
against his protege.

"Tush, tush, Rene Dumas!" said the old man, "you are a lawyer. You are
bred to regard human life with contempt. Let any man break a law, and
you shout, 'Execute him!'"

"I!" cried Dumas, lifting up his hands and eyes: "venerable sage, how
you misjudge me! I lament more than any one the severity of our code. I
think the state never should take away life,--no, not even the life of
a murderer. I agree with that young statesman,--Maximilien
Robespierre,--that the executioner is the invention of the tyrant. My
very attachment to our advancing revolution is, that it must sweep away
this legal butchery."

The lawyer paused, out of breath. The stranger regarded him fixedly and
turned pale.

"You change countenance, sir," said Dumas; "you do not ag