ighteen you become the sole mistress
of yourself."

"I greatly fear," timidly added the girl, "that I shall have to
anticipate the law, and assume that responsibility at once."

"But you can only contract through a guardian before that era in your
life; and in the agreement _between us, that is to be_, no third person
shall intermeddle. But we will not now speak of that. You must consider
yourself my equal here; there must be no secrets to hide from each
other; no suspicions engendered. We are both artists. Confidence is the
only path to mutual improvement. My business is large, but my ambition
to excel greater, far. Listen to me, child!" and suddenly rising, so as
to confront Lucile, he darted one of those magnetic glances into the
very fortress of her soul, which we have before attempted to describe,
and added, in an altered tone of voice, "The sun's raybrush paints the
rainbow upon the evanescent cloud, and photographs an iris in the skies.
The human eye catches the picture ere it fades, and transfers it with
all its beauteous tints to that prepared albumen, the retina. The soul
sees it there, and rejoices at the splendid spectacle. Shall insensate
nature outpaint the godlike mind? Can she leave her brightest colors on
the dark _collodion_ of a thunder-cloud, and I not transfer the blush of
a rose, or the vermilion of a dahlia, to my _Rivi_ or _Saxe_? No! no!
I'll not believe it. Let us work together, girl; we'll lead the age we
live in. My name shall rival Titian's, and you shall yet see me snatch
the colors of the dying dolphin from decay, and bid them live forever."

And so saying, he turned with a suddenness that startled his pupil, and
strode hastily out of the apartment.

Unaccustomed, as Lucile had been from her very birth, to brusque
manners, like those of the photographer, their grotesqueness impressed
her with an indefinable relish for such awkward sincerity, and whetted
her appetite to see more of the man whose enthusiasm always got the
better of his politeness.

"He is no Frenchman," thought the girl, "but I like him none the less.
He has been very, very kind to me, and I am at this moment dependent
upon him for my daily bread." Then, changing the direction of her
thoughts, they recurred to the subject-matter of Pollexfen's discourse.
"Here," thought she, "lies the clue to the labyrinth. If insane, his
madness is a noble one; for he would link his name with the progress of
his art. He seeks to do awa