id took a greengage and offered it to him.

"Thank you," said he, taking the plum.

"Are you tired?" said she, giving him another.

"I am not tired with work, but tired of life," said he.

"What absurd notions you have!" she exclaimed with some annoyance. "Have
you not had a good genius to keep an eye on you?" she said, offering him
the sweetmeats, and watching him with pleasure as he ate them all. "You
see, I thought of you when dining with my cousin."

"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 s