eep.

"Well, what shall we do now?" he asked, after he had roused them.

"I should like to sleep here a little longer," replied Rocdiane frankly.

"And I, too," said Landa.

Bertin rose.

"Well, I shall go home," he said. "I am rather tired."

He felt very animated, on the contrary, but he wished to go, fearing
the end of the evening around the baccarat-table of the club, which
unfortunately he knew so well.

He went home, therefore, and the following day, after a nervous night,
one of those nights that put artists in that condition of cerebral
activity called inspiration, he decided not to go out, but to work until
evening.

It was an excellent day, one of those days of facile production, when
ideas seem to descend into the hands and fix themselves upon the canvas.

With doors shut, far from the world, in the quiet of his own dwelling,
closed to everyone, in the friendly peace of his studio, with clear eye,
lucid mind, enthusiastic, alert, he tasted that happiness given only
to artists, the happiness of bringing forth their work in joy. Nothing
existed any more for him in such hours of work except the piece of
canvas on which was born an image under the caress of his brush; and he
experienced, in these crises of productiveness, a strange and delicious
sensation of abounding life which intoxicated him. When evening came he
was exhausted as by healthful fatigue, and went to sleep with agreeable
anticipation of his breakfast the next morning.

The table was covered with flowers, the menu was carefully chosen, for
Madame de Guilleroy's sake, as she was a refined epicure; and in spite
of strong but brief resistance, the painter compelled his guests to
drink champagne.

"The little one will get intoxicated," protested the Countess.

"Dear me! there must be a first time," replied the indulgent Duchess.

Everyone, as the party returned to the studio, felt stirred by that
light gaiety which lifts one as if the feet had wings.

The Duchess and the Countess, having an engagement at a meeting of the
Committee of French Mothers, were to take Annette home before going to
the meeting; but Bertin offered to take her for a walk, and then to the
Boulevard Malesherbes; so both ladies left them.

"Let us take the longest way," said Annette.

"Would you like to stroll about the Monceau Park?" asked Bertin. "It is
a very pretty place; we will look at the babies and nurses."

"Yes, I should like that."

They passed thro