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And, in after years, a day, an hour repaid her amply for the long and weary sacrifices of her indigence. At the last exhibition her son had received the Cross of the Legion of Honor. The newspapers, unanimous in hailing an unknown genius, still rang with sincere praises. Artists themselves acknowledged Schinner as a master, and dealers covered his canvases with gold pieces.

They laughed and talked together, telling each other their thoughts, speaking of themselves with the simplicity of two children who have made friends in a day, as much as if they had met constantly for three years. Schinner wished to be taught piquet. Being ignorant and a novice, he, of course, made blunder after blunder, and like the old man, he lost almost every game.

While detailing these faults of the picture Schinner saw on Fougeres' face so deep an expression of sadness that he carried him off to dinner and tried to console him. The next morning at seven o'clock Fougeres was at his easel working over the rejected picture; he warmed the colors; he made the corrections suggested by Schinner, he touched up his figures.

Indulgences, blessings, consecrated gifts from the Papal Chair were held up before their eyes by their countryman, the cunning, eloquent, indefatigable Cardinal Schinner, whilst the knightly Emperor reminded them that it would be nobler to aid a plundered prince to regain what he had lost than to stand by the haughty robber; and the young Duke of Milan, son of that Ludovico Sforza, since dead, who was taken prisoner at Novara and afterwards escaped to Austria, promised them, in return for their help, the most profitable alliance and the possession of Lugano and Locarno.

Then he took another whiff, kept the smoke in his throat, removed the cigar from his lips, and allowed the smoke slowly and gracefully to escape them. "There, young man," said the great painter. "Here, young man, here's another way; watch this," said Georges, imitating Schinner, but swallowing the smoke and exhaling none.

Ah! those eyes were so many flames, all mouths were a single curse, while from the volume of that burning hatred rose the fearful cry: 'To death! to death! down with the murderer!" "So those Dalmatians spoke our language, did they?" said the count. "I observe you relate the scene as if it happened yesterday." Schinner was nonplussed.

At five-and-twenty Hippolyte Schinner, to whom his mother had transmitted her woman's soul, understood more clearly than ever his position in the world. Anxious to restore to his mother the pleasures of which society had so long robbed her, he lived for her, hoping by the aid of fame and fortune to see her one day happy, rich, respected, and surrounded by men of mark.

"I have been longer in the department, I have served twenty-four hours," said Rabourdin with a smile. "I know Monsieur le Comte de Serizy, the minister of State, pretty well, and if he can help you, I will go and see him," said Schinner. The salon soon filled with persons who knew nothing of the government proceedings. Du Bruel did not appear.

"High art is at a low ebb," said his friend Pierre Grassou, who made daubs to suit the taste of the bourgeoisie, in whose appartements fine paintings were at a discount. "You ought to have a whole cathedral to decorate; that's what you want," declared Schinner; "then you would silence criticism with a master-stroke."

"Why," say they, "does he rail out continually against French intrigue? Only because he has sold himself to the Papal interest. Is he not in close league with Cardinal Schinner? Is he not his spy, his minion, commissioned by him to distribute the presents of the Pope? Does he not receive letters, testimonials of honor, from the Nuncio?