MadameDescoings’spassionforcedhertobecontentwithfiftyfrancsamonthforherdomesticexpenses，soastogamblewiththerest。
　　Ontheotherhand，MadameBridau，motherlylove，keptherexpensesdowntothesamesum。Bywayofpenanceforherformerover-
　　confidence，sheheroicallycutoffherownlittleenjoyments。Aswithothertimidsoulsoflimitedintelligence，oneshocktoherfeelingsrousingherdistrustledhertoexaggerateadefectinhercharacteruntilitassumedtheconsistencyofavirtue。TheEmperor，shesaidtoherself，mightforgetthem；hemightdieinbattle；herpension，atanyrate，ceasedwithherlife。Sheshudderedattheriskherchildrenranofbeingleftaloneintheworldwithoutmeans。QuiteincapableofunderstandingRoguinwhenheexplainedtoherthatinsevenyearsMadameDescoings’sassignmentwouldreplacethemoneyshehadsoldoutoftheFunds，shepersistedintrustingneitherthenotarynorheraunt，noreventhegovernment；shebelievedinnothingbutherselfandtheprivationsshewaspractising。Bylayingasidethreethousandfrancseveryyearfromherpension，shewouldhavethirtythousandfrancsattheendoftenyears；whichwouldgivefifteenhundredayeartoherchildren。Atthirty-six，shemightexpecttolivetwentyyearslonger；andifshekepttothesamesystemofeconomyshemightleavetoeachchildenoughforthebarenecessariesoflife。
　　Thusthetwowidowspassedfromhollowopulencetovoluntarypoverty，——oneunderthepressureofavice，theotherthroughthepromptingsofthepurestvirtue。Noneofthesepettydetailsareuselessinteachingthelessonwhichoughttobelearnedfromthispresenthistory，drawnasitisfromthemostcommonplaceinterestsoflife，butwhosebearingsare，itmaybe，onlythemorewidespread。Theviewfromthewindowsintothestudentdens；thetumultoftherapinsbelow；thenecessityoflookingupattheskytoescapethemiserablesightsofthedampangleofthestreet；thepresenceofthatportrait，fullofsoulandgrandeurdespitetheworkmanshipofanamateurpainter；thesightoftherichcolors，nowoldandharmonious，inthatcalmandplacidhome；thepreferenceofthemotherforhereldestchild；heroppositiontothetastesoftheyounger；inshort，thewholebodyoffactsandcircumstanceswhichmakethepreambleofthishistoryareperhapsthegeneratingcausestowhichweoweJosephBridau，oneofthegreatestpaintersofthemodernFrenchschoolofart。
　　Philippe，theelderofthetwosons，wasstrikinglylikehismother。
　　Thoughablondlad，withblueeyes，hehadthedaringlookwhichisreadilytakenforintrepidityandcourage。OldClaparon，whoenteredtheministryoftheinterioratthesametimeasBridau，andwasoneofthefaithfulfriendswhoplayedwhisteverynightwiththetwowidows，usedtosayofPhilippetwoorthreetimesamonth，givinghimataponthecheek，“Here’sayoungrascalwho’llstandtohisguns！“
　　Theboy，thusstimulated，naturallyandoutofbravado，assumedaresolutemanner。Thatturnoncegiventohischaracter，hebecameveryadroitatallbodilyexercises；hisfightsattheLyceumtaughthimtheenduranceandcontemptforpainwhichlaysthefoundationofmilitaryvalor。Healsoacquired，verynaturally，adistasteforstudy；publiceducationbeingunabletosolvethedifficultproblemofdeveloping“paripassu“thebodyandthemind。
　　AgathebelievedthatthepurelyphysicalresemblancewhichPhilippeboretohercarriedwithitamorallikeness；andsheconfidentlyexpectedhimtoshowatafuturedayherowndelicacyoffeeling，heightenedbythevigorofmanhood。PhilippewasfifteenyearsoldwhenhismothermovedintothemelancholyappartementintherueMazarin；andthewinningwaysofaladofthatagewentfartoconfirmthematernalbeliefs。Joseph，threeyearsyounger，waslikehisfather，butonlyonthedefectiveside。Inthefirstplace，histhickblackhairwasalwaysindisorder，nomatterwhatpainsweretakenwithit；whilePhilippe’s，notwithstandinghisvivacity，wasinvariablyneat。Then，bysomemysteriousfatality，Josephcouldnotkeephisclothesclean；dresshiminnewclothes，andheimmediatelymadethemlooklikeoldones。Theelder，ontheotherhand，tookcareofhisthingsoutofmerevanity。Unconsciously，themotheracquiredahabitofscoldingJosephandholdinguphisbrotherasanexampletohim。Agathedidnottreatthetwochildrenalike；whenshewenttofetchthemfromschool，thethoughtinhermindastoJosephalwayswas，“WhatsortofstateshallIfindhimin？“Thesetriflesdroveherheartintothegulfofmaternalpreference。
　　Nooneamongtheveryordinarypersonswhomadethesocietyofthetwowidows——neitheroldDuBruelnoroldClaparon，norDesrochesthefather，noreventheAbbeLoraux，Agathe’sconfessor——noticedJoseph’sfacultyforobservation。Absorbedinthelineofhisowntastes，thefuturecoloristpaidnoattentiontoanythingthatconcernedhimself。
　　Duringhischildhoodthisdispositionwassoliketorporthathisfathergrewuneasyabouthim。Theremarkablesizeoftheheadandthewidthofthebrowrousedafearthatthechildmightbeliabletowateronthebrain。Hisdistressfulface，whoseoriginalitywasthoughtuglinessbythosewhohadnoeyeforthemoralvalueofacountenance，woreratherasullenexpressionduringhischildhood。Thefeatures，whichdevelopedlaterinlife，werepinched，andthecloseattentionthechildpaidtowhatwentonabouthimstillfurthercontractedthem。Philippeflatteredhismother’svanity，butJosephwonnocompliments。Philippesparkledwiththecleversayingsandlivelyanswersthatleadparentstobelievetheirboyswillturnoutremarkablemen；Josephwastaciturn，andadreamer。ThemotherhopedgreatthingsofPhilippe，andexpectednothingofJoseph。
　　Joseph’spredilectionforartwasdevelopedbyaverycommonplaceincident。DuringtheEasterholidaysof1812，ashewascominghomefromawalkintheTuilerieswithhisbrotherandMadameDescoings，hesawapupildrawingacaricatureofsomeprofessoronthewalloftheInstitute，andstoppedshortwithadmirationatthecharcoalsketch，whichwasfullofsatire。ThenextdaythechildstoodatthewindowwatchingthepupilsastheyenteredthebuildingbythedoorontherueMazarin；thenherandownstairsandslippedfurtivelyintothelongcourtyardoftheInstitute，fullofstatues，busts，half-finishedmarbles，plasters，andbakedclays；atallofwhichhegazedfeverishly，forhisinstinctwasawakened，andhisvocationstirredwithinhim。Heenteredaroomontheground-floor，thedoorofwhichwashalfopen；andtherehesawadozenyoungmendrawingfromastatue，whoatoncebegantomakefunofhim。
　　“Hi！littleone，“criedthefirsttoseehim，takingthecrumbsofhisbreadandscatteringthematthechild。
　　“Whosechildishe？“
　　“Goodness，howugly！“
　　ForaquarterofanhourJosephstoodstillandborethebruntofmuchteasingintheatelierofthegreatsculptor，Chaudet。Butafterlaughingathimforatime，thepupilswerestruckwithhispersistencyandwiththeexpressionofhisface。Theyaskedhimwhathewanted。Josephansweredthathewishedtoknowhowtodraw；
　　thereupontheyallencouragedhim。Wonbysuchfriendliness，thechildtoldthemhewasMadameBridau’sson。
　　“Oh！ifyouareMadameBridau’sson，“theycried，fromallpartsoftheroom，“youwillcertainlybeagreatman。LonglivethesonofMadameBridau！Isyourmotherpretty？Ifyouareasampleofher，shemustbestylish！“
　　“Ha！youwanttobeanartist？“saidtheeldestpupil，cominguptoJoseph，“butdon’tyouknowthatthatrequirespluck；you’llhavetobearallsortsoftrials，——yes，trials，——enoughtobreakyourlegsandarmsandsoulandbody。Allthefellowsyouseeherehavegonethroughregularordeals。Thatone，forinstance，hewentsevendayswithouteating！Letmesee，now，ifyoucanbeanartist。“
　　Hetookoneofthechild’sarmsandstretcheditstraightupintheair；thenheplacedtheotherarmasifJosephwereintheactofdeliveringablowwithhisfist。
　　“Nowthat’swhatwecallthetelegraphtrial，“saidthepupil。“Ifyoucanstandlikethat，withoutloweringorchangingthepositionofyourarmsforaquarterofanhour，thenyou’llhaveprovedyourselfapluckyone。“
　　“Courage，littleone，courage！“criedalltherest。“Youmustsufferifyouwanttobeanartist。“
　　Joseph，withthegoodfaithofhisthirteenyears，stoodmotionlessforfiveminutes，allthepupilsgazingsolemnlyathim。
　　“There！youaremoving，“criedone。
　　“Steady，steady，confoundyou！“criedanother。
　　“TheEmperorNapoleonstoodawholemonthasyouseehimthere，“saidathird，pointingtothefinestatuebyChaudet，whichwasintheroom。
　　Thatstatue，whichrepresentstheEmperorstandingwiththeImperialsceptreinhishand，wastorndownin1814fromthecolumnitsurmountedsowell。
　　AttheendoftenminutesthesweatstoodindropsonJoseph’sforehead。Atthatmomentabald-headedlittleman，paleandsicklyinappearance，enteredtheatelier，whererespectfulsilencereignedatonce。
　　“Whatyouareabout，youurchins？“heexclaimed，ashelookedattheyouthfulmartyr。
　　“Thatisagoodlittlefellow，whoisposing，“saidthetallpupilwhohadplacedJoseph。
　　“Areyounotashamedtotortureapoorchildinthatway？“saidChaudet，loweringJoseph’sarms。“Howlonghaveyoubeenstandingthere？“heaskedtheboy，givinghimafriendlylittlepatonthecheek。
　　“Aquarterofanhour。“
　　“Whatbroughtyouhere？“
　　“Iwanttobeanartist。“
　　“Wheredoyoubelong？wheredoyoucomefrom？“
　　“Frommamma’shouse。“
　　“Oh！mamma！“criedthepupils。
　　“Silenceattheeasels！“criedChaudet。“Whoisyourmamma？“
　　“SheisMadameBridau。Mypapa，whoisdead，wasafriendoftheEmperor；andifyouwillteachmetodraw，theEmperorwillpayallyouaskforit。“
　　“HisfatherwasheadofadepartmentattheministryoftheInterior，“
　　exclaimedChaudet，struckbyarecollection。“Soyouwanttobeanartist，atyourage？“
　　“Yes，monsieur。“