is thenceforth bound only by his conscience, and that
never troubles him; but a foreigner never comes out.--Give me your
promissory note; my bookkeeper will take it up; he will get it
protested; you will both be prosecuted and both be condemned to
imprisonment in default of payment; then, when everything is in due
form, you must sign a declaration. By doing this your interest will be
accumulating, and you will have a pistol always primed to fire at your
Pole!"

The old maid allowed these legal steps to be taken, telling her
protege not to be uneasy, as the proceedings were merely to afford a
guarantee to a money-lender who agreed to advance them certain sums.
This subterfuge was due to the inventive genius of Monsieur Rivet. The
guileless artist, blindly trusting to his benefactress, lighted his
pipe with the stamped paper, for he smoked as all men do who have
sorrows or energies that need soothing.

One fine day Monsieur Rivet showed Mademoiselle Fischer a schedule,
and said to her:

"Here you have Wenceslas Steinbock bound hand and foot, and so
effectually, that within twenty-four hours you can have him snug in
Clichy for the rest of his days."

This worthy and honest judge at the Chamber of Commerce experienced
that day the satisfaction that must come of having done a malignant
good action. Beneficence has so many aspects in Paris that this
contradictory expression really represents one of them. The Livonian
being fairly entangled in the toils of commercial procedure, the point
was to obtain payment; for the illustrious tradesman looked on
Wenceslas as a swindler. Feeling, sincerity, poetry, were in his eyes
mere folly in business matters.

So Rivet went off to see, in behalf of that poor Mademoiselle Fischer,
who, as he said, had been "done" by the Pole, the rich manufacturers
for whom Steinbock had worked. It happened that Stidmann--who, with
the help of these distinguished masters of the goldsmiths' art, was
raising French work to the perfection it has now reached, allowing it
to hold its own against Florence and the Renaissance--Stidmann was in
Chanor's private room when the army lace manufacturer called to make
inquiries as to "One Steinbock, a Polish refugee."

"Whom do you call 'One Steinbock'? Do you mean a young Livonian who
was a pupil of mine?" cried Stidmann ironically. "I may tell you,
monsieur, that he is a very great artist. It is said of me that I
believe myself to be the Devil. Well, that po