With unparalleled nobleness, in spite of extreme poverty, the family refused to receive a sous from the princes or the party they had so served. No fleck of the world’s dust can be thrown on that spotless fidelity. It was at this period, when each day’s labor scarcely sufficed to provide for daily necessities, that Mademoiselle de Fauveau wrote to one of her friends, “We artists are like the Hebrews of old; manna is sent to us, but on condition we save none for the morrow.” Brighter days dawned. Labor is not only its own reward, in the happiness it confers, but those who sow unweariedly and judiciously shall reap fairly. Our sculptress achieved a modest independence. It was probably at this time of her life that her friend the Baroness de Krafft sketched her character, dwelling on the contrasts presented by her history, in which her mind was developed, and the bent of her nature determined. “Fire, air, and water,” she says, “are in that organization;” and it is true that ardor, purity, and impulse are the characteristics of her genius. On the one hand we see the lady of the Faubourg St. Germaine, with all the habits, associations, and prejudices which belong to her order; on the other, the artist, earning her daily bread, and obliged to face in their reality the sternest necessities and most imperative obligations; the single woman treading victoriously the narrow and thorny path which all women tread who seek to achieve independence by their own exertions; and the genius which, to attain breadth and vigor, must freely sweep out of its path limitations and obstacles. These contrasts appear in her person and manner. Her glance, usually soft, can kindle and grow stern. Madame de Krafft notices that the movements of her arms are somewhat abrupt and angular, but her hands “are white, soft, and fine, royal as the hands of Cæsar, or of Leonardo da Vinci.”