"I know," said he, with a look at Lisbeth that was at once
affectionate and plaintive, "but for you I should long since have
ceased to live. But, my dear lady, artists require relaxation----"

"Ah! there we come to the point!" cried she, interrupting him, her
hands on her hips, and her flashing eyes fixed on him. "You want to go
wasting your health in the vile resorts of Paris, like so many
artisans, who end by dying in the workhouse. No, no, make a fortune,
and then, when you have money in the funds, you may amuse yourself,
child; then you will have enough to pay for the doctor and for your
pleasure, libertine that you are."

Wenceslas Steinbock, on receiving this broadside, with an
accompaniment of looks that pierced him like a magnetic flame, bent
his head. The most malignant slanderer on seeing this scene would at
once have understood that the hints thrown out by the Oliviers were
false. Everything in this couple, their tone, manner, and way of
looking at each other, proved the purity of their private live. The
old maid showed the affection of rough but very genuine maternal
feeling; the young man submitted, as a respectful son yields to the
tyranny of a mother. The strange alliance seemed to be the outcome of
a strong will acting constantly on a weak character, on the fluid
nature peculiar to the Slavs, which, while it does not hinder them
from showing heroic courage in battle, gives them an amazing
incoherency of conduct, a moral softness of which physiologists ought
to try to detect the causes, since physiologists are to political life
what entomologists are to agriculture.

"But if I die before I am rich?" said Wenceslas dolefully.

"Die!" cried she. "Oh, I will not let you die. I have life enough for
both, and I would have my blood injected into your veins if
necessary."

Tears rose to Steinbock's eyes as he heard her vehement and artless
speech.

"Do not be unhappy, my little Wenceslas," said Lisbeth with feeling.
"My cousin Hortense thought your seal quite pretty, I am sure; and I
will manage to sell your bronze group, you will see; you will have
paid me off, you will be able to do as you please, you will soon be
free. Come, smile a little!"

"I can never repay you, mademoiselle," said the exile.

"And why not?" asked the peasant woman, taking the Livonian's part
against herself.

"Because you not only fed me, lodged me, cared for me in my poverty,
but you also gave me strength. You have made me