THE AMERICAN
dress, and went and set up her easel in the Louvre. There, in one place and another, she has passed the last two years; I can't say it has made us millionaires. But she tells me Rome was n't built in a day, that she's making great progress, that I must leave her to her own devices. The fact is, without prejudice to her 'gift', that she has no idea of burying herself alive. She likes to see the world and to be seen of the world. She says herself that she can't work in the dark. Her appearance itself holds up the lamp for others! Only I can't help worrying and trembling—I can't help wondering what may happen to her there all alone, day after day, amid that prowling of people from the ends of the earth. I can't be always at her side. I go with her in the morning, and I come to fetch her away, but she won't have me near her in the interval; she says I give on her nerves. As if it did n't give on mine to keep walking up and down outside! Ah, if anything were to happen to her!" cried M. Nioche, clenching his two fists and jerking back his head again portentously.
"Oh, I guess she'll come out all right," his friend soothingly returned.
"I believe I should shoot her otherwise!" said the old man solemnly.
"Well, we'll marry her quick enough," insisted Newman-"since that's how you manage it; and I'll go and see her to-morrow at the Louvre and pick out the pictures she's to copy for me."
M. Nioche had brought a message from his daughter in acceptance of their patron's magnificent commission, the young lady declaring herself his most
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