“There! what do you think of that?”

In design, attitude, and drapery the figures were of the school of Raphael; but the execution was in the style of the Florentine metal workers—­the school created by Donatello, Brunelleschi, Ghiberti, Benvenuto Cellini, John of Bologna, and others.  The French masters of the Renaissance had never invented more strangely twining monsters than these that symbolized the evil passions.  The palms, ferns, reeds, and foliage that wreathed the Virtues showed a style, a taste, a handling that might have driven a practised craftsman to despair; a scroll floated above the three figures; and on its surface, between the heads, were a W, a chamois, and the word fecit.

“Who carved this?” asked Hortense.

“Well, just my lover,” replied Lisbeth.  “There are ten months’ work in it; I could earn more at making sword-knots.—­He told me that Steinbock means a rock goat, a chamois, in German.  And he intends to mark all his work in that way.—­Ah, ha!  I shall have the shawl.”

“What for?”

“Do you suppose I could buy such a thing, or order it?  Impossible!  Well, then, it must have been given to me.  And who would make me such a present?  A lover!”

Hortense, with an artfulness that would have frightened Lisbeth Fischer if she had detected it, took care not to express all her admiration, though she was full of the delight which every soul that is open to a sense of beauty must feel on seeing a faultless piece of work—­perfect and unexpected.

“On my word,” said she, “it is very pretty.”

“Yes, it is pretty,” said her cousin; “but I like an orange-colored shawl better.—­Well, child, my lover spends his time in doing such work as that.  Since he came to Paris he has turned out three or four little trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years’ study and toil.  He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.—­There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs.  And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich——­”

“Then you often see him?”

“Bless me, do you think it is all a fable?  I told you truth in jest.”

“And he is in love with you?” asked Hortense eagerly.

“He adores me,” replied Lisbeth very seriously.  “You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.—­But, mum; you promised, you know!”

“And he will fare like the five others,” said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal.

“Six others, miss.  I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me.”

“This one does better than that,” said Hortense; “he has brought down the sun.”

“Where can that be turned into money?” asked her cousin.  “It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine.”