fter I had been introduced to the young lady she
took Rayel's arm, and the company proceeded to the dining-hall. My seat
at the table was almost directly opposite Rayel. His grave and dignified
demeanor was made doubly conspicuous by the coquettish airs and ready
tongue of the young lady who sat beside him. Under a steady fire of
compliments and questions and artful glances I saw that he began to grow
uneasy.

"That was a beautiful portrait you painted!" exclaimed Miss Paddington,
looking sentimental.

"Thank you," said he; "my cousin also admires it, but I must own that it
does not quite suit me."

"Perhaps you are an admirer of the lady it represents," said she,
peering shyly into his eyes. "The Count de Montalle has fallen in love
with her and has borrowed the portrait from my father."

"Ze picture--ah! monsieur, it is beautiful," said the Count, who sat
near them. "But ze lady--she sat for me long ago and I had ze honor
myself to paint her portrait."

He was a thin, wiry Frenchman, with small, black eyes, a forehead
sloping to a bald crown, an aquiline nose and a pointed chin, adorned
with an imperial. The face was almost mephistophelian in effect. He had
painted her portrait! Was the man an impostor? I asked myself.

"The Count is an artist himself, you know," said Miss Paddington.

"Yes--an artist?" asked Rayel in a half-incredulous tone. Then he looked
inquiringly at the gentleman referred to, as if doubtful of his own
understanding of the words he had repeated.

"Yes," said the Count with emphasis. "For twenty years I have devote
myself to ze art."

"To what art, sir?" asked Rayel, in a tone suggesting doubt.

I was now thoroughly frightened at the serious turn of the dialogue. Was
this "Count" a pretender and one of the many bogus noblemen of whom I
had read? Rayel was sounding him, that was quite evident. I saw now the
mistake I had made in bringing my cousin to such a place.

"Quel impudence!" exclaimed the insulted nobleman, under his breath.

"Forgive me, sir," quickly answered Rayel, "I did not know it was wrong
to ask you."

"I wish you would paint my portrait, Mr. Lane," said the young lady, who
did not seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation.

"That would be easy enough," he answered.

"Would it? Ah, but I fear you would find me too plain a subject. I am
not beautiful, you know, but if I wore my best clothes you might think I
would do."

For some time Miss Paddington continue