the supplementary line
beneath:

"AT LENGTH, BEHOLD US THUS ONCE MORE UNITED."

"I shall put this clause in my will," she said, "and require that the
task be intrusted to you."

"In that case, madame," replied the artist, "I will do it at the price
you offer--but only in the hope of seeing your hand. Don't go and forget
me in your will."

"I should like to have this as soon as possible," said the disconsolate
one, "nevertheless, take your time to do it well and don't forget the
scar on the thumb. I want a living hand."

"Don't be afraid, madame, it shall be a speaking one," said Marcel, as
he bowed the widow out. But hardly had she crossed the threshold when
she returned, saying, "I have one more thing to ask you, sir: I should
like to have inscribed on my husband's tomb something in verse which
would tell of his good conduct and his last words. Is that good style?"

"Very good style--they call that an epitaph--the very best style."

"You don't know anyone who would do that for me cheap? There is my
neighbor Monsieur Guerin, the public writer, but he asks the clothes off
my back."

Here Rodolphe looked at Marcel, who understood him at once.

"Madame," said the artist, pointing to Rodolphe, "a happy fortune has
conducted hither the very person who can be of service to you in this
mournful juncture. This gentleman is a renowned poet; you couldn't find
a better one."

"I want something very melancholy," said the widow, "and the spelling
all right."

"Madame," replied Marcel, "my friend spells like a book. He had all the
prizes at school."

"Indeed!" said the widow, "my grand-nephew had just had a prize too; he
is only seven years old."

"A very forward child, madame."

"But are you sure that the gentleman can make very melancholy verses?"

"No one better, madame, for he has undergone much sorrow in his life.
The papers always find fault with his verses for being too melancholy."

"What!" cried the widow, "do they talk about him in the papers? He must
know quite as much, then, as Monsieur Guerin, the public writer."

"And a great deal more. Apply to him, madame, and you will not repent of
it."

After having explained to Rodolphe the sort of inscription in verse
which she wished to place on her husband's tomb, the widow agreed to
give Rodolphe ten francs if it suited her--only she must have it very
soon. The poet promised she should have it the very next day.

"Oh good genius of Artemisia!" cried