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"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?"

"Unfortunately, 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






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