His pictures sold—­sold for all they were worth.  The prices were not large, but there was enough money so that the gaunt wolf that once scratched and sniffed at the door was no longer to be seen nor heard.

They had all they needed.  The Little Mother was the banker, and we may safely guess that nothing was wasted.

Pupils now came to Ary Scheffer—­dull fellows from the schools, who wished to be coached.  Sitters in search of good portraits, cheap for cash, occasionally climbed the stairway.  The Little Mother dusted about and fixed up the studio so as to make it look prosperous.

One fine lady came in a carriage to sit for her portrait.  She gave her wraps into the keeping of the Little Mother at the door, with an admonitory, “Take care of these, mind you, or I’ll report you to your master.”

The Little Mother bowed low and promised.

That night when she told at the supper-table how the fine lady had mistaken her for a servant, Henri said, “Well, just charge the fine lady fifty francs extra in the bill for that.”

But Ary would not consent to let the blunder go so cheaply.  When the fine lady came for her next sitting, the Little Mother was called and advised with at length as to pose and color-scheme.

Neither was the advising sham, for Ary deferred to his mother’s judgment in many ways, and no important step was taken without her approval.  They were more like lovers than mother and son.  His treatment of her was more than affectionate—­it was courteous and deferential, after the manner of men who had ancestors who were knights of the olden time.

The desire to sit on a divan and be waited upon is the distinguishing feature of the heartless mistress of fortune.  Like the jeweled necklace and bands of gold at wrist and waist, which symbol a time when slavery was rife and these gauds had a practical meaning, so does the woman who in bringing men to her feet by beck and nod tell of animality too coarse for speech.

But the woman with the great, tender and loving heart gives her all and asks no idolatrous homage.  Her delight is in serving, and willingly and more than willingly, for without thought she breaks the vase of precious ointment and wipes the feet of the beloved with the hairs of her head.

Madame Scheffer sought in all ways to serve her sons, and so we find there was always a gentle rivalry between Ary and his mother as to who could love most.

She kept his studio in order, cleaned his brushes and prepared the canvas.  In the middle of the forenoon she would enter his workroom with tea and toast or other little delicacies that he liked, and putting the tray down, would kiss the forehead of the busy worker and gently tiptoe out.

When the day’s work was done she intelligently criticized and encouraged; and often she would copy the picture herself and show how it could be changed for the better here or there.