"No," said Joseph, "that is how they are copied."
"How much do they pay you for that?"
"Eh! never enough; two hundred and fifty francs. But I study the
manner of the masters and learn a great deal; I found out the secrets
of their method. There's one of my own pictures," he added, pointing
with the end of his brush to a
sketch with the colors still moist.
"How much do you pocket in a year?"
"Un
fortunately, I am known only to painters. Schinner backs me; and he
has got me some work at the Chateau de Presles, where I am going in
October to do some arabesques, panels, and other decorations, for
which the Comte de Serizy, no doubt, will pay well. With such trifles
and with orders from the dealers, I may manage to earn eighteen
hundred to two thousand francs a year over and above the working
expenses. I shall send that picture to the next
exhibition; if it hits
the public taste, my fortune is made. My friends think well of it."
"I don't know anything about such things," said Philippe, in a subdued
voice which caused Joseph to turn and look at him.
"What is the matter?" said the artist,
seeing that his brother was
very pale.
"I should like to know how long it would take you to paint my
portrait?"
"If I worked
steadily, and the weather were clear, I could finish it
in three or four days."
"That's too long; I have only one day to give you. My poor mother
loves me so much that I wished to leave her my
likeness. We will say
no more about it."
"Why! are you going away again?"
"I am going never to return," replied Philippe with an air of forced
gayety.
"Look here, Philippe, what is the matter? If it is anything serious, I
am a man and not a ninny. I am accustomed to hard struggles, and if
discretion is needed, I have it."
"Are you sure?"
"On my honor."
"You will tell no one, no matter who?"
"No one."
"Well, I am going to blow my brains out."
"You!--are you going to fight a duel?"
"I am going to kill myself."
"Why?"
"I have taken eleven hundred francs from the funds in my hands; I have
got to send in my
accounts to-morrow morning. Half my
security is
lost; our poor mother will be reduced to six hundred francs a year.
That would be nothing! I could make a fortune for her later; but I am
dishonored! I cannot live under dishonor--"
"You will not be dishonored if it is paid back. To be sure, you will
lose your place, and you will only have the five hundred francs a year
from your cross; but you can live on five hundred francs."
"Farewell!" said Philippe,
running rapidly
downstairs, and not waiting
to hear another word.
Joseph left his
studio and went down to breakfast with his mother; but
Philippe's
confession had taken away his
appetite. He took Madame
Descoings aside and told her the terrible news. The old woman made a
frightened
exclamation, let fall the
saucepan of milk she had in her
hand, and flung herself into a chair. Agathe rushed in; from one
exclamation to another the mother gathered the fatal truth.
"He! to fail in honor! the son of Bridau to take the money that was
trusted to him!"
The widow trembled in every limb; her eyes dilated and then grew
fixed; she sat down and burst into tears.
"Where is he?" she cried amid the sobs. "Perhaps he has flung himself
into the Seine."
"You must not give up all hope," said Madame Descoings, "because a
poor lad has met with a bad woman who has led him to do wrong. Dear
me! we see that every day. Philippe has had such misfortunes! he has
had so little chance to be happy and loved that we ought not to be
surprised at his
passion for that creature. All
passions lead to
excess. My own life is not without
reproach of that kind, and yet I
call myself an honest woman. A single fault is not vice; and after
all, it is only those who do nothing that are never deceived."
Agathe's
despairovercame her so much that Joseph and the Descoings
were obliged to
lessen Philippe's wrong-doings by assuring her that
such things happened in all families.
"But he is twenty-eight years old," cried Agathe, "he is no longer a