icia, on being consulted, replied that it was a
matter of indifference to her whether they sold all or none, but that
she begged them, for God's sake, to leave her in peace.

The sale did not take place, however, thanks to the godmother, the
excellent Crenmitz, who suddenly made her appearance, as tranquil and
gentle as always:

"Don't listen to them, my child, sell nothing. Your old Constance has
fifteen thousand francs a year which were intended for you. You shall
have the benefit of them now, that's all. We will live together here. I
will not be in the way, you will see. You can work at your sculpture,
while I keep the house. Does that suit you?"

It was said so affectionately, in the childish accent of foreigners
expressing themselves in French, that the girl was deeply moved. Her
stony heart opened, a burning flood poured from her eyes and she threw
herself, buried herself in the ex-dancer's arms: "Oh! godmother, how
good you are! Yes, yes; don't leave me again--stay with me always. Life
frightens and disgusts me. I see so much hypocrisy and lying!" And when
the old woman had made herself a silky, embroidered nest in the house,
which resembled a traveller's camp filled with the treasures of all
lands, those two widely different natures took up their life together.

It was no small sacrifice that Constance had made to the little demon,
to leave her retreat at Fontainebleau for Paris, which she held in
horror. From the day when the ballet-dancer, once famous for her
extravagant caprices, who squandered princely fortunes between her five
parted fingers, had descended from the realm of apotheoses with a last
remnant of their dazzling glare still lingering in her eyes, and had
tried to resume the life of ordinary mortals, to administer her little
income and her modest household, she had been subjected to a multitude
of unblushing attempts at extortion and schemes which were readily
successful in view of the ignorance of that poor butterfly, who was
afraid of reality and constantly coming in contact with all its unknown
difficulties. In Felicia's house the responsibility became far more
serious, because of the extravagant methods long ago inaugurated by the
father and continued by the daughter, both artists having the utmost
contempt for economy. She had other difficulties, too, to overcome. She
could not endure the studio, with its permanent odor of tobacco smoke,
with the cloud, impenetrable to her, in which artisti