Michel tried to be careful of the money, which represented to him the sweat of his father's brow. He quivered with shame and dismay when his young sister, who worked at spinning silk--a very common industry in that part of Sicily,--secretly added a gold piece to her father's remittance. Evidently the poor child subjected herself to great privations to obtain for her brother the wherewithal to amuse himself for an hour. Michel vowed that he would not touch those gold pieces, but would save them and carry back to Mila all her little savings. But Michel loved pleasure; he craved a certain amount of luxury, and he did not know how to save. He had princely tastes, that is to say, he loved to give, and rewarded handsomely any _facchino_ who brought him a picture or a letter. And then too, painting materials are very expensive. Again, when Michel was in the company of wealthy young men, he would have blushed not to pay his scot like the rest. So that he ran in debt to a small amount, albeit very large for the budget of a poor decorator. There came a time when, the debt imitating the snow-ball, it became necessary for him either to fly in disgrace or to resign himself to take up some more humble occupation than historical painting. Trembling with rage and grief, Michel sacrificed the gold pieces which he had determined to carry back to Mila some day. But, finding that he was still far from solvent, he confessed everything in a letter to his father, blaming himself with something very like despair. A week later a banker forwarded to the young man the sum necessary to pay his debt, and to live some time longer on the same footing. Then came a letter from Mila, who said, still at Pier-Angelo's dictation: "A kind friend lent me the money I have sent to you; but I shall have to work six months to repay the loan. Try, my son, not to run in debt again until then, for if you do we shall have arrears of indebtedness which we can never discharge." Although Michel had never been reprimanded by his father, he expected something in the nature of a rebuke this time. When he realized the excellent man's inexhaustible kindness and philosophic courage, he was heartbroken, and though unable to blame himself for errors into which his position had irresistibly led him, he did blame himself, as for a crime, for having accepted that too brilliant position. He formed a mighty resolution, and was assisted in carrying it out by the idea that he was consummating a great sacrifice, and that if he had not the making of a great painter in him, he had at all events the heroism of a great character. Thus vanity had much to say in this effort of his will, but it was an ingenuous and noble vanity. He paid his debts and bade his friends farewell, announcing his purpose to abandon painting and to work with his father at his trade.