" "You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass.
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