acquaintance, and perhaps by the monition of his own talent, he had suddenly found a mistress,—one of those generous and noble souls who are ready to suffer by the side of a great man; espousing his poverty, studying to comprehend his caprices, strong to bear deprivation and bestow love, as others are daring in the display of luxury and in parading the insensibility of their hearts. The smile which flickered on her lips brightened as with gold the darkness of the garret and rivalled the effulgence of the skies; for the sun did not always shine in the heavens, but she was always here,—calm and collected in her passion, living in his happiness, his griefs; sustaining the genius which overflowed in love ere it found in art its destined expression.
"Listen, Gillette; come!"
The obedient, happy girl sprang lightly on the painter's knee. She was all grace and beauty, pretty as the springtime, decked with the wealth of feminine charm, and lighting all with the fire of a noble soul.
"O God!" he exclaimed, "I can never tell her!"
"A secret!" she cried; "then I must know it."
Poussin was lost in thought.
"Tell me."
"Gillette, poor, beloved heart!"
"Ah, do you want something of me?"
