weighty for her to carry. She had dressed herself in her best clothes, and naturally attracted admiration of various kinds from the people that passed on the road. A few encounters, indeed, were so disagreeable, that, on reaching Vendôme, she resolved to take the diligence to Paris, at the risk of arriving there without sufficient to pay for her first night's bed.

There was only one place vacant in the interior, and this she took for fifteen francs. The hour of departure was almost immediately after her arrival, so that she got up weary, and foot-sore, and dusty, into her place, whilst the prim travellers already there looked at her almost with disgust. Beauty, however, has an influence that is marvellous-we were going to say unjust; but was it not created for the very purpose of producing this influence? Presently, every one looked with interest on the road-stained wayfarer; every one except one fine young lady, the daughter of the principal hotel-keeper of the place, and she, having some pretensions to beauty herself, cast hostile eyes at the new-comer. There was a little old gentleman who sat opposite Mina, and who put on his spectacles to examine her more at his ease. He at once judged that her position in life would authorise any familiarity. He began to My child' her at once; asked where she came from, whither she was going, why she had travelled on foot; and seemed much annoyed at not getting any satisfactory answers. The truth was that Mina, even from her day's experience, had found that it was not good to allow familiarity with strangers, and answered drily and evasively. By the time they reached Châteaudun, the little old gentleman was disgusted; and as evening now drew on, buried his head in a large travelling-cap with side-flaps, and went to sleep.

They were approaching Paris when light dawned next morning. Mina, who had passed the night in an uneasy doze, was awakened by the little old gentleman, who, having slept well, seemed to feel quite lively. My child,' said he, we are approaching the great city, where, I suppose, you are going to seek your fortune. All country-girls expect to become fine ladies there at once. It is easy to see this is your first visit. You will find many deceptions there: Paris is the city of deceptions. I went there myself some forty years ago, persuaded that by this time I should have a monument erected in my honour. I relied on my genius; I don't now. Genius is no longer appreciated; formerly it was; it never will be again. I ought now to be painting historical pictures, instead of portraits at from twenty-five to fifty francs a head. That's my price, child. If ever you want your portrait taken—as who knows but you may?-think of me. There's my card: take it; it won't eat you. And-stop a bit--I feel an interest in you on account of your pretty looks, although you do stare at me as if I were a robber. If ever you are in want of employment, remember that your face is worth four francs a sitting for Madonnas, St Cecilias, and so forth. You are too young for the

Cleopatras, but that will come in time; and, who knows, if you take to this line, you may live to sit for the Witch of Endor!'

Although Mina did not exactly appreciate all this rattle, she understood that the gentleman meant to be civil, and took the card he gave. The little old artist then seized the opportunity of distributing one to each of the passengers, insisting on the extreme moderation of his terms, and intimating that he was always open to an arrangement. He was only anxious to do business.

They were now in the streets-the thronged, noisy streets-and Mina was looking almost wildly forth at what she considered to be the destined theatre of her life. Every one who approaches a great capital with ambitious hopes, finds himself terribly disappointed with the outward appearance it at first presents. Though reason may tell that it can only be an agglomeration of streets and houses somewhat larger than those already seen, the mind vaguely expects much more, and shrinks back within itself at beholding the dull reality.

When Mina was landed at the diligence-office with her bundle, and had sorrowfully watched the glad greetings with which some of the travellers were hailed-there was no one to greet her-she once more began to repent of her bold proceeding. In her loneliness, she looked round for the officious little artist, but he had darted away without thinking of her. Indeed, by her reserved manner, she had impressed him with the idea that she desired to avoid him. What was now to be done? She wandered forth, and having breakfasted on milk and bread, began to reflect as she strolled on what course of conduct to pursue.

6

Her last five-franc piece had been changed, and it was clearly necessary to have made up her mind before the morrow. The disagreeable truth now came over her for the first time clearly, that she had merely exchanged a life of labour in one place for a life of labour in another, under far greater disadvantages. In Paris, as in Blois, she must work that she might eat. There was no love of idleness in her composition, but there was a desire of luxury. Well, something might turn up in the future; and for the present, there was no harm in condescending to use her needle. She went into several tailors' shops, and asked for waistcoats to sew; but the first question always put was: Where do you live?' It was necessary, therefore, to find a lodging; and, accordingly, after ascending several dozen huge flights of stairs, she at length, in an obscure street near the Bourse, found a miserable little room for five francs a week. They asked her to pay the whole in advance, but she could only give two francs, and these were taken after some grumbling. Then she went to a tailor's shop, and again demanded work. This time they expressed willingness to employ her, but she must leave a deposit amounting to the value of the stuffs put in her hands. She begged and prayed to be trusted; but they had often been deceived before; and she was about to go away despairing, when she recollected her miniature

case, which she offered to leave as security. They laughed, but at length consented; and, proud as if she had already made her fortune, she returned towards evening, and at once set to work.

Experience seems to have proved that, in Paris, at least, it is next to impossible for a single woman to gain an adequate livelihood by the labour of her hands-in the way, at least, in which Mina set about it. They all try to do so, for the life of liberty they are enabled to lead possesses almost irresistible charms. They try; and almost always fail. Within six months, the poor girl became convinced, that even with the sacrifice of her beauty, even by denying herself a day of rest out of the seven, she could not avoid getting into debt. Her great drawback was, the being compelled to live in furnished lodgings. Otherwise, perhaps, with her economical habits, she might have got on after all. Five francs a week was a tremendous sum for her to pay-or promise to pay, for there were several weeks behind hand.

I know,' said she once to herself, that my work is liked-I take so much pains. Probably Monsieur Ducos would not wish to lose me. I will go to him and state my case. It is true that he is sometimes very unpleasant-very familiar in his manners; but they tell me he is a good man at bottom. Perhaps he will pay my little debts, and advance me sufficient to furnish a room. How I should like that charming little nook opposite with the balcony, where I might have I do not know how many pots of flowers! Only a hundred francs a year-two francs a week! Three francs saved-enough to live on almost. How foolish not to have thought of this before! Of course he will do it; and I shall soon be able to put money by. If I do, I will send Monsieur Charron a fine meerschaum-pipe, and he will forgive me.' The poor girl went to bed, long after midnight, with these golden thoughts; and early next morning, was at the shop with her finished work in a parcel. Great satisfaction was expressed; and then she ventured, with trembling lips, to make a statement of her case. M. Ducos listened with grave attention; and having looked round to see that they were quite alone, said: "Of course, I knew it would come to this; I only wonder you have held out so long. The matter can be arranged easily, as you are a sensible girl.'

Mina raised her great candid eyes to his face, and was about to pour forth her gratitude; but she instinctively felt that her enthu siasm would be misplaced, and looked down again trembling. The man hesitated for a moment, and explained himself. She was too proud to bear this; and without waiting to receive more work, hastened from the shop, resolved never to set her foot inside it again. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the scene would perhaps have had a different termination; but Mina, in addition to the virtue of her years, had confidence in her destiny and women are tempted by interest only when they cease to hope.

V.

On returning to her little room, the unfortunate young girl was led, by the recollection of some praises which Ducos had pronounced on her beauty, again to consult her mirror in the same spirit as of old. There were, indeed, traces of suffering there; but she was perhaps more lovely than ever, and could not but perceive it. No; it was not possible for a form like that to wither in the grasp of misery. The very thought was sacrilege.

Poor Mina had been brought up in good principles of religion and morality; but, from an unlucky bias of her mind, had never been intimately persuaded that good or evil fortune might be awarded her, except as due to her intrinsic merit or unworthiness. At bottom of her whole system of thought, there lay perhaps the Oriental doctrine of fatality. She imagined she could read her destiny in her countenance; and neither from prayer nor meditation did she derive half the comfort that came to her when, bending over her mirror, she admired herself, Narcissus-like, in its tarnished surface.

Suddenly she remembered what the little old artist had told her, that her face was a marketable article. Why had she not thought of this before? Four francs a sitting that was a fortune! She almost thanked M. Ducos for having, by his brutality, reminded her of this. Where was the card? After some trouble, it was found; and dressing herself as neatly as she could, she went away at once to the Faubourg St Germain.

The Rue Dufour is a dirty street of old-fashioned houses. In one of the most ancient-looking dwelt M. Prosper Lamme. The porter said he was at home; and up went Mina with beating heart. Having rung the bell, she heard a hurry-scurry of people changing their quarters; and presently she was admitted by M. Prosper himself, who bowed too profusely to recognise her. They had mistaken her for a customer, and the atelier had been hastily evacuated by the family, as could easily be divined by the arms and baggage-namely, a shattered work-table, a basin half-filled with soup, and a rocking-horse-that had been left behind.

Poor M. Prosper looked bitterly disappointed at first when Mina explained her errand, and called out: 'My Dove, you can come back; it isn't what we thought.'

'I'm not fit to appear, my Cat,' was the answer. 'It's only a Model,' cried the Cat.

'Well, I never!' exclaimed the Dove, appearing under the shape of a vixenish little lady, surrounded by a brood of boisterous children.

Mina suppressed a feeling of merriment, and meekly explained her views. M. Prosper, who was rapidly softening, tried to look big; talked of a vast importation of Legs from Germany,

and Hands from Italy; but admitted that Faces were more

uncommon.

'Just sit down there,' said he. 'I am doing a small thing for the Exhibition—a mere nothing, just to shew that I am alive-a young Persian lady reading a novel, and pausing to think of her absent lover. Of course, this will not count as a sitting; I want merely to try your capabilities, my child. Let the lady's hair alone, Alexandre; and you, Charlotte, if you could find anywhere else to wipe your hands, don't do it on her gown. Now, try and look a little Persian-take that book in your hands-you needn't read it, for you are to look absent. That's it. You sit admirably. Few Models know how to sit. My Dove, if you attempt to talk, you will stop the flow of my ideas. Put a button on those pantaloons: I am going to Philarête Chasles' to-night. My child, could you manage to drop a tear? There-that's it! You will make your fortune.'

All these things were said at intervals-and many more. Neither Mina nor the Dove, not even the children, had a chance of getting in a word edgeways; but the incipient Face-model could not help being oppressed with melancholy, when she felt thus practically in what way the beauty she had almost worshipped was to be of benefit to her. The tears she shed were no sham tears, but tears of sorrow and of shame.

M. Prosper's experimental sitting was a long one; so that poor Mina, wearied with night-work, and not accustomed to sit motionless for hours, soon felt the approaches of slumber. She tried to resist them, in spite of the somewhat testy exclamations of the artist, who wanted to make as much out of this opportunity as he could, but it was in vain; and at length she fell from her chair, half sleeping, half swooning.

They were very kind to her, and asked her to stop to dinner, which she was not unwilling to do. Luckily, she glanced at the little picture to which she had so much contributed, and, in her ignorance, exclaimed that it was beautiful. M. Prosper immediately sat down and wrote letters to half-a-dozen brother-artists, recommending her as a prodigy. But he did more than this-he invited her to come as often as she liked to see him; and the Dove, who was past the age of jealousy, and really merited her name, to some extent, seconded the invitation warmly. It is true, she was told to come early in the afternoon-a gratis sitting was in their thoughts; but Mina, who had long pined in her solitude, was delighted at the prospect of the society even of this eccentric family. She went next day to a celebrated sculptor's, fearful, it is true, but without any idea of what she was really doing. They perhaps misunderstood her, and meant no insult; but she flew from the house as from a den of thieves. In two or three places the same reception awaited her; but though her indignation increased, her alarm diminished. 'I will try them all,' she thought, and if all are the same, I must think of some other employment.'