or her firewood in the winter;
old General Hulot had her to dinner once a week; and there was always a
cover laid for her at her cousin's table. They laughed at her no doubt,
but they never were ashamed to own her. In short, they had made her
independent in Paris, where she lived as she pleased.

The old maid had, in fact, a terror of any kind of tie. Her cousin had
offered her a room in her own house--Lisbeth suspected the halter of
domestic servitude; several times the Baron had found a solution of
the difficult problem of her marriage; but though tempted in the first
instance, she would presently decline, fearing lest she should be
scorned for her want of education, her general ignorance, and her
poverty; finally, when the Baroness suggested that she should live
with their uncle Johann, and keep house for him, instead of the upper
servant, who must cost him dear, Lisbeth replied that that was the very
last way she should think of marrying.

Lisbeth Fischer had the sort of strangeness in her ideas which is often
noticeable in characters that have developed late, in savages, who think
much and speak little. Her peasant's wit had acquired a good deal of
Parisian asperity from hearing the talk of workshops and mixing with
workmen and workwomen. She, whose character had a marked resemblance to
that of the Corsicans, worked upon without fruition by the instincts of
a strong nature, would have liked to be the protectress of a weak man;
but, as a result of living in the capital, the capital had altered her
superficially. Parisian polish became rust on this coarsely tempered
soul. Gifted with a cunning which had become unfathomable, as it always
does in those whose celibacy is genuine, with the originality and
sharpness with which she clothed her ideas, in any other position she
would have been formidable. Full of spite, she was capable of bringing
discord into the most united family.

In early days, when she indulged in certain secret hopes which she
confided to none, she took to wearing stays, and dressing in the
fashion, and so shone in splendor for a short time, that the Baron
thought her marriageable. Lisbeth at that stage was the piquante
brunette of old-fashioned novels. Her piercing glance, her olive
skin, her reed-like figure, might invite a half-pay major; but she was
satisfied, she would say laughing, with her own admiration.

And, indeed, she found her life pleasant enough when she had freed it
from practical