ick had no difficulty in discovering his establishment,
on whose signboard appeared these words: "_Emporium of Gothic
Art_--Restoration of articles used in ecclesiastical ceremonies--Church
ornaments--Polychromatic sculpture--Frankincense of the Magi, Kings,
&c., &c."

At the two corners of the shop-window rose two wooden statues, streaked
with gold, cinnabar, and azure, a Saint John the Baptist with his
sheepskin, and a Saint Genevieve with roses in her apron and a distaff
under her arm; next, groups in plaster, a good sister teaching a little
girl, a mother on her knees beside a little bed, and three collegians
before the holy table. The prettiest object there was a kind of chalet
representing the interior of a crib with the ass, the ox, and the child
Jesus stretched on straw--real straw. From the top to the bottom of the
shelves could be seen medals by the dozen, every sort of beads,
holy-water basins in the form of shells, and portraits of ecclesiastical
dignitaries, amongst whom Monsignor Affre and our Holy Father shone
forth with smiles on their faces.

Arnoux sat asleep at his counter with his head down. He had aged
terribly. He had even round his temples a wreath of rosebuds, and the
reflection of the gold crosses touched by the rays of the sun fell over
him.

Frederick was filled with sadness at this spectacle of decay. Through
devotion to the Marechale he, however, submitted to the ordeal, and
stepped forward. At the end of the shop Madame Arnoux showed herself;
thereupon, he turned on his heel.

"I couldn't see him," he said, when he came back to Rosanette.

And in vain he went on to promise that he would write at once to his
notary at Havre for some money--she flew into a rage. She had never seen
a man so weak, so flabby. While she was enduring a thousand privations,
other people were enjoying themselves.

Frederick was thinking about poor Madame Arnoux, and picturing to
himself the heart-rending impoverishment of her surroundings. He had
seated himself before the writing-desk; and, as Rosanette's voice still
kept up its bitter railing:

"Ah! in the name of Heaven, hold your tongue!"

"Perhaps you are going to defend them?"

"Well, yes!" he exclaimed; "for what's the cause of this display of
fury?"

"But why is it that you don't want to make them pay up? 'Tis for fear of
vexing your old flame--confess it!"

He felt an inclination to smash her head with the timepiece. Words
failed him. He relap