Wenceslas, finding his trick successful, expatiated on the Duc d’Herouville.

“I will fit you out in a black suit, and get you some new linen,” said Lisbeth, “for you must appear presentably before your patrons; and then you must have a larger and better apartment than your horrible garret, and furnish it property.—­You look so bright, you are not like the same creature,” she added, gazing at Wenceslas.

“But my work is pronounced a masterpiece.”

“Well, so much the better!  Do some more,” said the arid creature, who was nothing but practical, and incapable of understanding the joy of triumph or of beauty in Art.  “Trouble your head no further about what you have sold; make something else to sell.  You have spent two hundred francs in money, to say nothing of your time and your labor, on that devil of a Samson.  Your clock will cost you more than two thousand francs to execute.  I tell you what, if you will listen to me, you will finish the two little boys crowning the little girl with cornflowers; that would just suit the Parisians.—­I will go round to Monsieur Graff the tailor before going to Monsieur Crevel.—­Go up now and leave me to dress.”

Next day the Baron, perfectly crazy about Madame Marneffe, went to see Cousin Betty, who was considerably amazed on opening the door to see who her visitor was, for he had never called on her before.  She at once said to herself, “Can it be that Hortense wants my lover?”—­for she had heard the evening before, at Monsieur Crevel’s, that the marriage with the Councillor of the Supreme Court was broken off.

“What, Cousin! you here?  This is the first time you have ever been to see me, and it is certainly not for love of my fine eyes that you have come now.”

“Fine eyes is the truth,” said the Baron; “you have as fine eyes as I have ever seen——­”

“Come, what are you here for?  I really am ashamed to receive you in such a kennel.”

The outer room of the two inhabited by Lisbeth served her as sitting-room, dining-room, kitchen, and workroom.  The furniture was such as beseemed a well-to-do artisan—­walnut-wood chairs with straw seats, a small walnut-wood dining table, a work table, some colored prints in black wooden frames, short muslin curtains to the windows, the floor well polished and shining with cleanliness, not a speck of dust anywhere, but all cold and dingy, like a picture by Terburg in every particular, even to the gray tone given by a wall paper once blue and now faded to gray.  As to the bedroom, no human being had ever penetrated its secrets.

The Baron took it all in at a glance, saw the sign-manual of commonness on every detail, from the cast-iron stove to the household utensils, and his gorge rose as he said to himself, “And this is virtue!—­What am I here for?” said he aloud.  “You are far too cunning not to guess, and I had better tell you plainly,” cried he, sitting down and looking out across the courtyard through an opening he made in the puckered curtain.  “There is a very pretty woman in the house——­”