ome to dinner."

By seven o'clock Lisbeth had returned home in an omnibus, for she was
eager to see Wenceslas, whose dupe she had been for three weeks, and to
whom she was carrying a basket filled with fruit by the hands of Crevel
himself, whose attentions were doubled towards _his_ Cousin Betty.

She flew up to the attic at a pace that took her breath away, and found
the artist finishing the ornamentation of a box to be presented to the
adored Hortense. The framework of the lid represented hydrangeas--in
French called _Hortensias_--among which little Loves were playing. The
poor lover, to enable him to pay for the materials of the box, of which
the panels were of malachite, had designed two candlesticks for Florent
and Chanor, and sold them the copyright--two admirable pieces of work.

"You have been working too hard these last few days, my dear fellow,"
said Lisbeth, wiping the perspiration from his brow, and giving him
a kiss. "Such laborious diligence is really dangerous in the month
of August. Seriously, you may injure your health. Look, here are some
peaches and plums from Monsieur Crevel.--Now, do not worry yourself so
much; I have borrowed two thousand francs, and, short of some disaster,
we can repay them when you sell your clock. At the same time, the lender
seems to me suspicious, for he has just sent in this document."

She laid the writ under the model sketch of the statue of General
Montcornet.

"For whom are you making this pretty thing?" said she, taking up the
model sprays of hydrangea in red wax which Wenceslas had laid down while
eating the fruit.

"For a jeweler."

"For what jeweler?"

"I do not know. Stidmann asked me to make something out of them, as he
is very busy."

"But these," she said in a deep voice, "are _Hortensias_. How is it that
you have never made anything in wax for me? Is it so difficult to design
a pin, a little box--what not, as a keepsake?" and she shot a fearful
glance at the artist, whose eyes were happily lowered. "And yet you say
you love me?"

"Can you doubt it, mademoiselle?"

"That is indeed an ardent _mademoiselle_!--Why, you have been my only
thought since I found you dying--just there. When I saved you, you vowed
you were mine, I mean to hold you to that pledge; but I made a vow to
myself! I said to myself, 'Since the boy says he is mine, I mean to make
him rich and happy!' Well, and I can make your fortune."

"How?" said the hapless artist, at the hei