"
The baron went to the exhibition. The first picture that met his
eyes on entering the door was a counterpart of the one he had
received, but larger, and, in the admirable lights in which it was
arranged, looked even more like life.
"Isn't it a grand production?" said the baron's conductor.
"My sweet, sweet child!" murmured the old man, in a low thrilling
voice. Then turning, he said, abruptly--
"Show me where I can find this Pierre Delebarre."
"With pleasure. His house is near at hand," said his companion.
A few minutes walk brought them to the artist's dwelling.
"That is an humble roof," said the man, pointing to where Pierre
lived, "but it contains a noble man." He turned away, and the baron
entered alone. He did not pause to summon any one, but walked in
through the open door. All was silent. Through a neat vestibule, in
which were rare flowers, and pictures upon the wall, he passed into
a small apartment, and through that to the door of an inner chamber
It was half open. He looked in. Was it another picture? No, it was
in very truth his child; and her babe lay in her arms, as he had
just seen it, and Pierre sat before her looking tenderly in her
face.
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