‘Unfortunately, I am not acquainted with a single artist,’ replied the young doctor.

‘I must then renounce this desire,’ said Mme G——­ sighing.

The next morning Henry—­so the little boy was called—­having assisted his mother and his sister Marie in their household labours, dressed himself carefully, and, as it was a holiday, asked leave to go out.

‘Go, my child,’ said his mother; ’go and breathe a little fresh air:  your continual work is injurious to you.’

The boy kissed his father’s wasted hand, embraced his mother and sister, and went out, at once sad and pleased.  When he reached the street he hesitated for a moment, then directed his steps towards the drawing-school where he attended every day:  he entered, and rung at the door of the apartment belonging to the professor who directed this academy.  A servant opened the door, and conducted him into an elegantly-furnished breakfast-room; for the professor was one of the richest and most distinguished painters of the day.  He was breakfasting alone with his wife, when Henry entered.

‘There, my dear,’ He said to her, as he perceived Henry; ’there is the cleverest pupil in the academy.  This little fellow really promises to do me great credit one day.  Well, my little friend, what do you wish to say to me?’

’Sir, my father is very ill—­the doctor fears that he may die:  poor mamma, who is very fond of papa, wishes to have his portrait.  Would you, sir, be kind enough to take it?  O do not, pray, sir, do not refuse me!’ said Henry, whose tearful eyes were fixed imploringly on the artist.

‘Impossible, Henry—­impossible!’ replied the painter.  ’I am paid three thousand francs for every portrait I paint, and I have five or six at present to finish.’

‘But, my dear,’ interposed his wife, ’it seems to me that this portrait would take you but little time:  think of the poor mother, whose husband will so soon be lost to her for ever.’

’It grieves me to refuse you, my dear; but you know that my battle-piece, which is destined for Versailles, must be sent to the Louvre in a fortnight, for I cannot miss the Exposition this year.  But stay, my little friend, I will give you the address of several of my pupils:  tell them I sent you, and you will certainly find some one of them who will do what you wish.  Good-morning, Henry!’

‘Good-by, my little friend,’ added the lady.  ’I hope you may be successful.’  The boy took his leave with a bursting heart.

Henry wandered through the gardens of the Luxembourg, debating with himself if he should apply to the young artists whose addresses he held in his hand.  Fearing that his new efforts might be equally unsuccessful, he was trying to nerve himself to encounter fresh refusals, when he was accosted by a boy of his own age, his fellow-student at the drawing-school.  Jules proposed that they should walk together; then observing Henry’s sadness, he asked him the cause.  Henry told him of his mother’s desire; their master’s refusal to take the portrait; and of his own dislike to apply to those young artists, who were strangers to him.