“Ah!” cried the poor fellow, still smarting from the bitterness of his first struggle with death, “exiles from every land may well stretch out their hands to France, as the souls in Purgatory do to Paradise.  In what other country is such help to be found, and generous hearts even in such a garret as this?  You will be everything to me, my beloved benefactress; I am your slave!  Be my sweetheart,” he added, with one of the caressing gestures familiar to the Poles, for which they are unjustly accused of servility.

“Oh, no; I am too jealous, I should make you unhappy; but I will gladly be a sort of comrade,” replied Lisbeth.

“Ah, if only you knew how I longed for some fellow-creature, even a tyrant, who would have something to say to me when I was struggling in the vast solitude of Paris!” exclaimed Wenceslas.  “I regretted Siberia, whither I should be sent by the Emperor if I went home.—­Be my Providence!—­I will work; I will be a better man than I am, though I am not such a bad fellow!”

“Will you do whatever I bid you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I will adopt you as my child,” said she lightly.  “Here I am with a son risen from the grave.  Come! we will begin at once.  I will go out and get what I want; you can dress, and come down to breakfast with me when I knock on the ceiling with the broomstick.”

That day, Mademoiselle Fischer made some inquiries, at the houses to which she carried her work home, as to the business of a sculptor.  By dint of many questions she ended by hearing of the studio kept by Florent and Chanor, a house that made a special business of casting and finishing decorative bronzes and handsome silver plate.  Thither she went with Steinbock, recommending him as an apprentice in sculpture, an idea that was regarded as too eccentric.  Their business was to copy the works of the greatest artists, but they did not teach the craft.  The old maid’s persistent obstinacy so far succeeded that Steinbock was taken on to design ornament.  He very soon learned to model ornament, and invented novelties; he had a gift for it.

Five months after he was out of his apprenticeship as a finisher, he made acquaintance with Stidmann, the famous head of Florent’s studios.  Within twenty months Wenceslas was ahead of his master; but in thirty months the old maid’s savings of sixteen years had melted entirely.  Two thousand five hundred francs in gold!—­a sum with which she had intended to purchase an annuity; and what was there to show for it?  A Pole’s receipt!  And at this moment Lisbeth was working as hard as in her young days to supply the needs of her Livonian.

When she found herself the possessor of a piece of paper instead of her gold louis, she lost her head, and went to consult Monsieur Rivet, who for fifteen years had been his clever head-worker’s friend and counselor.  On hearing her story, Monsieur and Madame Rivet scolded Lisbeth, told her she was crazy, abused all refugees whose plots for reconstructing their nation compromised the prosperity of the country and the maintenance of peace; and they urged Lisbeth to find what in trade is called security.