“I have but three thousand at the most,” said Lisbeth.  “And what is Wenceslas doing now?”

“He has had an offer to work in partnership with Stidmann at a table service for the Duc d’Herouville for six thousand francs.  Then Monsieur Chanor will advance four thousand to repay Monsieur de Lora and Bridau—­a debt of honor.”

“What, you have had the money for the statue and the bas-reliefs for Marshal Montcornet’s monument, and you have not paid them yet?”

“For the last three years,” said Hortense, “we have spent twelve thousand francs a year, and I have but a hundred louis a year of my own.  The Marshal’s monument, when all the expenses were paid, brought us no more than sixteen thousand francs.  Really and truly, if Wenceslas gets no work, I do not know what is to become of us.  Oh, if only I could learn to make statues, I would handle the clay!” she cried, holding up her fine arms.

The woman, it was plain, fulfilled the promise of the girl; there was a flash in her eye; impetuous blood, strong with iron, flowed in her veins; she felt that she was wasting her energy in carrying her infant.

“Ah, my poor little thing! a sensible girl should not marry an artist till his fortune is made—­not while it is still to make.”

At this moment they heard voices; Stidmann and Wenceslas were seeing Chanor to the door; then Wenceslas and Stidmann came in again.

Stidmann, an artist in vogue in the world of journalists, famous actresses, and courtesans of the better class, was a young man of fashion whom Valerie much wished to see in her rooms; indeed, he had already been introduced to her by Claude Vignon.  Stidmann had lately broken off an intimacy with Madame Schontz, who had married some months since and gone to live in the country.  Valerie and Lisbeth, hearing of this upheaval from Claude Vignon, thought it well to get Steinbock’s friend to visit in the Rue Vanneau.

Stidmann, out of good feeling, went rarely to the Steinbocks’; and as it happened that Lisbeth was not present when he was introduced by Claude Vignon, she now saw him for the first time.  As she watched this noted artist, she caught certain glances from his eyes at Hortense, which suggested to her the possibility of offering him to the Countess Steinbock as a consolation if Wenceslas should be false to her.  In point of fact, Stidmann was reflecting that if Steinbock were not his friend, Hortense, the young and superbly beautiful countess, would be an adorable mistress; it was this very notion, controlled by honor, that kept him away from the house.  Lisbeth was quick to mark the significant awkwardness that troubles a man in the presence of a woman with whom he will not allow himself to flirt.

“Very good-looking—­that young man,” said she in a whisper to Hortense.

“Oh, do you think so?” she replied.  “I never noticed him.”

“Stidmann, my good fellow,” said Wenceslas, in an undertone to his friend, “we are on no ceremony, you and I—­we have some business to settle with this old girl.”