or fellow does not know
that he is capable of becoming a god."

"Indeed," said Rivet, well pleased. And then he added, "Though you
take a rather cavalier tone with a man who has the honor to be an
Assessor on the Tribunal of Commerce of the Department of the Seine."

"Your pardon, Consul!" said Stidmann, with a military salute.

"I am delighted," the Assessor went on, "to hear what you say. The man
may make money then?"

"Certainly," said Chanor; "but he must work. He would have a tidy sum
by now if he had stayed with us. What is to be done? Artists have a
horror of not being free."

"They have a proper sense of their value and dignity," replied
Stidmann. "I do not blame Wenceslas for walking alone, trying to make
a name, and to become a great man; he had a right to do so! But he was
a great loss to me when he left."

"That, you see," exclaimed Rivet, "is what all young students aim at
as soon as they are hatched out of the school-egg. Begin by saving
money, I say, and seek glory afterwards."

"It spoils your touch to be picking up coin," said Stidmann. "It is
Glory's business to bring us wealth."

"And, after all," said Chanor to Rivet, "you cannot tether them."

"They would eat the halter," replied Stidmann.

"All these gentlemen have as much caprice as talent," said Chanor,
looking at Stidmann. "They spend no end of money; they keep their
girls, they throw coin out of window, and then they have no time to
work. They neglect their orders; we have to employ workmen who are
very inferior, but who grow rich; and then they complain of the hard
times, while, if they were but steady, they might have piles of gold."

"You old Lumignon," said Stidmann, "you remind me of the publisher
before the Revolution who said--'If only I could keep Montesquieu,
Voltaire, and Rousseau very poor in my backshed, and lock up their
breeches in a cupboard, what a lot of nice little books they would
write to make my fortune.'--If works of art could be hammered out like
nails, workmen would make them.--Give me a thousand francs, and don't
talk nonsense."

Worthy Monsieur Rivet went home, delighted for poor Mademoiselle
Fischer, who dined with him every Monday, and whom he found waiting
for him.

"If you can only make him work," said he, "you will have more luck
than wisdom; you will be repaid, interest, capital, and costs. This
Pole has talent, he can make a living; but lock up his trousers and
his shoes, do not let him go to th