"Do you think the Commission will soon arrive at a decision?"
"To-day, probably," replied de Lussac, "very likely in a few hours. We are expecting every minute a telegram from Paris."
"If they should buy it!" said Philip dreamily.
"Well, then, you will be a wealthy man!"
"Shall I?" exclaimed Philip, his eyes shining with joy—"shall I be rich? My dear de Lussac, I am quite satisfied with my lot. I earn more than I want. But my wife, my Dora—I want to be rich for her sake. She was brought up surrounded with every luxury. Six years ago, she left the house of a wealthy and generous father to share the life of a struggling artist. She never once complained, but has been happy and has made me the happiest of men. She has sat constantly by my easel, inspiring my brush by her sweet presence, and encouraging me by her constant and discriminating praise. To better appreciate my work, she has set to work herself, and has had two pictures hung at the Royal Academy, which have been splendidly noticed. How she has helped me! Sometimes she would come and put her arms on my shoulders and say, 'Go on, Philip, you are on the road to fame.' What a wife! Yes," said he, with earnestness and warmth, "I want wealth, but God is my witness that it is for her that I aspire to riches."
"Still in love, I see, cher ami, hein? It is possible then to be in love with one's wife after six years, six long years, of marriage."
"Still in love! Why, I am only now beginning to love her as she deserves. Oh, that wealth may enable me to make her still happier!"
"Amen," said de Lussac, and he turned again to the picture.
"I think this portrait is delightful," said he; "you can never have done a better piece of work than this!"
"Yes! I am fairly satisfied with it," said Philip; "it is like her, is it not? My wife with a bunch of pansies in her hand."