"
The word cousin dazzled the artist's mind; he had a glimpse of
Paradise whence this daughter of Eve had come to him. He had dreamed
of the beautiful girl of whom Lisbeth had told him, as Hortense had
dreamed of her cousin's lover; and, as she had entered the shop--
"Ah!" thought he, "if she could but be like this!"
The look that passed between the lovers may be imagined; it was a
flame, for virtuous lovers have no hypocrisies.
"Well, what the deuce are you doing here?" her father asked her.
"I have been spending twelve hundred francs that I had saved. Come."
And she took her father's arm.
"Twelve hundred francs?" he repeated.
"To be exact, thirteen hundred; you will lend me the odd hundred?"
"And on what, in such a place, could you spend so much?"
"Ah! that is the question!" replied the happy girl. "If I have got a
husband, he is not dear at the money."
"A husband! In that shop, my child?"
"Listen, dear little father; would you forbid my marrying a great
artist?"
"No, my dear. A great artist in these days is a prince without a title
--he has glory and fortune, the two chief social advantages--next to
virtue," he added, in a smug tone.
"Oh, of course!" said Hortense.
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