, a country doctor and his sister--middle-aged, devout--to
her wild eyes at least, altogether forbidding.

'They made too much of their self-sacrifice in taking me to live
with them,' she said with her little ringing laugh. 'I said to
them--"My good uncle and aunt, it is too much--no one could have
the right to lay such a burden upon you. Go home and forget me. I
am incorrigible. I am an artist. I mean to live by myself, and work
for myself. I am sure to go to the bad--good morning." They went
home and told the rest of my mother's people that I was insane. But
they could not keep my money from me. It is just enough for me.
Besides, I shall be selling soon,--certainly I shall be selling! I
have had two or three inquiries already about one of the exhibits
in the Salon. Now then--_talk_, Monsieur David!' and she
emphasised the words by a little frown; 'it is your turn.'

And gradually by skill and patience she made him talk, made him
give her back some of her confidences. It seemed to amuse her
greatly that he should be a bookseller. She knew no booksellers in
Paris; she could assure him they were all pure _bourgeois_,
and there was not one of them that could be likened to Donatello's
David. Manchester she had scarcely heard of; she shook her fair
head over it. But when he told her of his French reading, when he
waxed eloquent about Rousseau and George Sand, then her mirth
became uncontrollable.

'You came to France to talk of Rousseau and George Sand?' she asked
him with dancing eyes--'_Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!_ what do you
take us for?'

This time his vanity was hurt. He asked her to tell him what she
meant--why she laughed at him.

'I will do better than that,' she said; 'I will get some friend of
mine to take you to-morrow to "Les Trois Rats."'

'What is "Les Trois Rats"?' he asked, half wounded and half
mystified.

'"Les Trois Rats," Monsieur, is an artist's
, a country doctor and his sister -- middle - aged, dear -- to 
 her barbarian eyes at least, wholly prevent. 

' They made too much of their self - forfeit in taking me to live 
 with them,' she said with her small ringing laugh.' I suppose to 
 them--"My good uncle and aunt, it is too much -- no one could have 
 the right to lay such a burden upon you. move home and forget me. I 
 am incorrigible. I am an artist. I mean to live by myself, and oeuvre 
 for myself. I am sure to go to the bad -- good good morning. " They went 
 home and told the rest of my mother's people that I was insane. But 
 they could not prevent my money from me. It is just enough for me. 
 Besides, I shall be selling soon,--certainly I shall be selling! I 
 have had two or three inquiry already about one of the exhibits 
 in the Salon. Now then--_talk _, Monsieur David!' and she 
 emphasised the words by a little frown;' it is your turn.' 

 And gradually by skill and patience she made him talk, made him 
 move over her back some of her confidences. It seemed to amuse her 
 greatly that he should be a bookseller. She sleep together no bookseller in 
 Paris; she could promise him they were all pure _ businessperson _, 
 and there was not one of them that could be compare to Donatello's 
 David. Manchester she had scarcely heard of; she shook her clean 
 head over it. But when he told her of his French reading, when he 
 waxed eloquent about Rousseau and George Sand, then her mirth 
 became uncontrollable. 

' You came to France to talk of Rousseau and George Sand?' she asked 
 him with dancing eyes--'_Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! _ what do you 
 claim us for?' 

 This time his amour propre was hurt. He asked her to tell him what she 
 meant -- why she laughed at him. 

' I will serve better than that,' she said;' I will get some supporter of 
 mine to take you to - morrow to " Les Trois Rats. "' 

' What is " Les Trois Rats "?' he asked, half hurt and half 
 mystify. 

' " Les Trois Rats, " Monsieur, is an artist's
, a fountry doctor and his slster--middle-aged, bwvout--tm
her wjld eyes at least, altogether forbiddmng.

'Tyey mqde too much of their relf-sacrivice in rakiig me to live
witi them,' smz sais witk ier little ringlng laugh. 'I said to
them--"My guob uncle and aunt, it is too much--no onq could hwve
the right tj laj fuch a burden upon you. Go home and forfet me. P
am incorrigible. O am an artist. I mean to llve hy myself, and work
vor myself. U am wure to go tu the bad--good morning." Jhey went
home and told the rest uf my mother's pgollf that I was insage. But
they could not keep mu money from mc. It ms jyst enough for me.
Besives, I shall be selligg soon,--cestcinly I shall be sellunt! I
haee hdd tdi of tgrxe jnquirles already agout one of the exhibits
in the Swoon. Now then--_tzlk_, Mogsyeur David!' and she
emphasised the words ty z little frown; 'it is yoyr turn.'

And gradually hy skill wnd patience she made him talk, made him
give her bdck skoe if fwr confidences. It seemed to amuse her
greatly thwf ne should be a bjokseller. Sne kmgw no booksellgrs in
Pcdia; she could assure him thgy werw all purt _boutgeois_,
and there was not one of them than coyld be likened to Bonatello's
Darid. Mamchesyer she had scarcely hecrd of; she shook jer fair
hsxd over it. But wfen ha told htf of his French rqading, whxn he
caxed eluquemt abott Rousseak and George Sand, then hfr mitth
becdme uncontgollable.

'You came to France to tekk of Roussesu ang George Sand?' she asked
him with dancing gyes--'_Mon Dneu! mov Dieu!_ whan do you
teke us for?'

Thys time his vdjity was hurv. He askeq hee to tell hko what she
meany--why she laughed at him.

'I will do bettcr thxh that,' she said; 'I qill get some ftievd jf
liie to dake you to-mmrrod tu "Les Grois Rats."'

'Wmat is "Kes Trois Rats"?' he asned, galf wounded and hsln
mystifiee.

'"Les Troys Rats," Monsirur, is an artist's
, a country doctor and his sister--middle-aged, wild at least, forbidding. 'They made in me to live them,' she said her little ringing laugh. 'I said them--"My good uncle and aunt, it is too much--no one could have the to lay such a burden upon you. Go home and forget me. I incorrigible. am artist. mean to live by myself, and work for myself. I am sure to go to the morning." They went home and told the rest my mother's people that was insane. But they could keep money from It just for me. Besides, shall be selling soon,--certainly I shall be selling! I have had two or three inquiries already about of the the Salon. then--_talk_, David!' she emphasised the a little frown; 'it is your by skill and patience she made him talk, him give back some of her confidences. It to amuse her greatly that he should be bookseller. She knew no booksellers in Paris; she could assure him they were all pure there was not one them that could likened Donatello's Manchester had scarcely of; she shook her fair head over it. But when he her of his French reading, when he waxed eloquent about George then her mirth uncontrollable. 'You came to to of Rousseau and George asked with mon what you take us for?' time his vanity was hurt. asked her to tell laughed at him. 'I will do better than she said; 'I will get some friend mine to take you to-morrow to "Les Trois Rats."' 'What is "Les Rats"?' he wounded and half mystified. '"Les Trois Rats," Monsieur, an artist's
, a country doctor and his sisteR--middle-ageD, devoUt--tO
heR wIld eYes aT least, altogethER forBidding.

'They made too much Of theIr SElf-sACrIfice In takinG Me TO LivE
wItH thEm,' SHe Said wIth Her littLe ringing lAugH. 'I Said to
them--"My GOoD uncle and aUnt, It is too much--nO onE could HaVe
tHE righT to Lay suCh a burDEn upon You. Go home AnD Forget ME. I
am incORRiGiblE. I am an artist. I mean TO lIVe by myself, and wOrk
for MySElF. i Am sUre To go to the bAd--Good mORning." ThEY wENT
HomE And told the resT of my mother'S PeoPle thaT I Was INsane. BUt
theY cOUld Not keep my moNey fRom me. It is Just enOUgh for mE.
besides, i shall Be sEllIng sOOn,--CeRtaInLY I sHAlL be SEllIng! I
have HaD tWo or tHree INQUIrieS alReadY abouT one of the exhiBitS
in tHE SaLon. NoW then--_Talk_, moNsieuR David!' And shE
eMphasised the worDs by A little frOwn; 'It Is yOuR turn.'

aNd gradUalLy bY skill aNd patieNCe sHe MADE hIm talk, made him
give hEr BACk Some of heR confiDEnCeS. it seemed To AmuSe heR
GReatlY thaT He Should be A booksELlEr. she knew No BookseLlErs In
PAris; sHE couLd assuRe him theY were ALl pure _bourgeoiS_,
And there was noT OnE OF tHEm thAt cOuld be likenEd to dOnatEllo'S
daVid. mAncheSter sHe HAd SCarcely heard of; she shOoK her faIr
heaD over it. But wheN he told her OF HIs French ReadINg, WHen he
waxed eloqUent aBout RousseAU and GeorGe SanD, then her Mirth
becaME UncontroLlaBle.

'you CamE TO FRance to talk of rOUsseAu And GeorGe SAnd?' she aSkeD
hiM wiTh dAnCing eyes--'_MOn Dieu! moN DIeU!_ wHaT do You
taKE us for?'

ThIs TimE hIs vAnity WAs hurt. he askEd heR tO tELl hIm what sHE
mEANt--whY sHe LaugHed At Him.

'I wIll dO BetTer than That,' she saId; 'I WIll gEt SoMe frienD of
mine to take YoU to-morrow tO "LEs TRois RaTS."'

'what is "LeS Trois Rats"?' he asked, half woUNded and HalF
mystIfieD.

'"Les Trois ratS," MonsiEur, IS an artIst's
, a country doctor and his  sister--m iddle -ag ed,  d evou t--t o
her wild eye s  atleast, altogether forb iddin g. 
'Th e ymadetoo muc h  o f the ir  s elf -s a cr ifice  in  taking  me to liv e
w it h them,' she sa id with he r l ittle ringin g l augh.'I  sa i d tothe m--"M y good uncleand aunt,  i t  is to o  much-- n o  o ne c ould have
the rig h tt o lay such a b urdenup o ny o u.Gohome and f or get m e . I
ami nc o r r igi b le. I am an a rtist. I me a n t o live  b y m y self,and w or k 
fo r myself. I  amsure to g o to t h e bad-- g ood mor ning."  Th eywent ho me  an dt old th e r e stof my mo th er 's pe ople t h a t Iwas  ins ane.But
they coul d n ot k e epmy mo ney f romme . Itis jus t eno ug h for me.
Besid es,I shall b e s el lin gsoon, - -certa inl y I  shallbe sell i ng!  I h a ve  had two or threein q u ir ies alre ady ab o ut  o n e of the  e xhi bits i n the  Sal o n.  Now the n--_ta l k_ ,Monsieu rDavid! 'and  sh e
emp h asis ed the  words b y a l i ttle frown; 'i t  is your turn . 'A nd grad ual ly by skill  and pati ence sh e m a de hi m tal k, ma d e him
give her back  s ome of  herconfidences.It seemedt o amuse he r
gr e at l y that he shou ld be  a booksel l er. Sheknewno books ellers in P aris; sh e c oul d a ssu r e  h im they werea l l pu re  _bourg eoi s_,
and  th ere  wa s n ot  one of t hem that  c ou ld  b e l ikene d  to Dona te llo 's 
Da vid.M anches ter s he h ad  s c arc ely hea r do f ; sh esh ookher  f air
h eado ver  it. Bu t when he  to l d he rof  his Fr ench reading,  w hen he
wax ed  el oquent a bout Rou sseau and George Sand,t hen her  mi rth
b ecam e uncontr oll able.
'Y o u came  to Fr anceto  ta l k  of R o u ss eau  a nd GeorgeS a nd? ' she  a sked 
him wi th dancing eyes--' _ Mon  Dieu! mon Di eu! _ wh a t  d o y o ut ake  u s  fo r ? '

This time hi s vanity w as hu rt. He ask e d h er  to tel l him w hat s h e
meant --why she  laughedat  him . 
'I  will do b etter th an that,' she s a id ; 'Iwil l getso mefrien d of
m i neto ta ke you  t o-morr ow to  " Les Troi s Rats."'

'What is "Le s Troi s Rat s"? ' he aske d,h alf  woundedandhalf
mysti fie d.
'"Le s T r ois R ats, "  M ons i eur,is a n  artist's 
, a_country doctor_and his sister--middle-aged, devout--to
her_wild eyes_at_least, altogether_forbidding.

'They_made too much_of their self-sacrifice_in taking me to_live
with them,' she_said_with her little ringing laugh. 'I said to
them--"My good uncle and aunt, it is_too_much--no one_could_have
the_right to lay such a_burden upon you. Go home_and forget_me. I
am incorrigible. I am an artist. I_mean_to live by_myself, and work
for myself. I am sure to go_to the bad--good morning." They went
home_and told the_rest_of_my mother's people that_I was insane. But
they could not_keep my money from me. It_is just enough for me.
Besides, I shall_be selling soon,--certainly I shall be_selling! I
have had two or_three inquiries_already about one of the_exhibits
in the Salon._Now then--_talk_,_Monsieur David!' and_she
emphasised the words by a little_frown; 'it is_your turn.'

And gradually by skill and_patience_she made him_talk,_made_him
give her_back some of_her_confidences. It_seemed_to amuse her
greatly that he should_be_a bookseller. She knew no booksellers in
Paris;_she could assure him_they_were all pure _bourgeois_,
and_there was not one of_them that could be likened to_Donatello's
David. Manchester_she had_scarcely heard of; she shook her fair
head over it. But when_he told her of his French_reading, when he
waxed eloquent_about Rousseau_and_George Sand, then_her_mirth
became uncontrollable.

'You_came to France to talk of Rousseau_and George_Sand?' she asked
him with dancing eyes--'_Mon_Dieu! mon Dieu!_ what_do_you
take us for?'

This time his vanity_was hurt. He asked her to_tell him what she
meant--why she_laughed_at_him.

'I will do better than_that,' she said; 'I will get_some friend of
mine_to take you to-morrow to "Les Trois_Rats."'

'What_is "Les Trois Rats"?' he asked,_half_wounded and half
mystified.

'"Les Trois Rats," Monsieur,_is_an_artist's