workmen
dreaming of love.

He had just seated himself when the Countess appeared. She walked so
lightly that he had not heard her coming through the next room, and was
surprised when he saw her. She extended her hand in graceful welcome.

"And so it is true," said she, "that you really wish to paint my
portrait?"

"I shall be very happy to do so, Madame."

Her close-fitting black gown made her look very slender and gave her a
youthful appearance though a grave air, which was belied, however,
by her smiling face, lighted up by her bright golden hair. The Count
entered, leading by the hand a little six-year-old girl.

Madame de Guilleroy presented him, saying, "My husband."

The Count was rather short, and wore no moustache; his cheeks were
hollow, darkened under the skin by his close-shaven beard. He had
somewhat the appearance of a priest or an actor; his hair was long and
was tossed back carelessly; his manner was polished, and around the
mouth two large circular lines extended from the cheeks to the chin,
seeming to have been acquired from the habit of speaking in public.

He thanked the painter with a flourish of phrases that betrayed the
orator. He had wished for a long time to have a portrait of his wife,
and certainly he would have chosen M. Olivier Bertin, had he not feared
a refusal, for he well knew that the painter was overwhelmed with
orders.

It was arranged, then, with much ceremony on both sides, that the Count
should accompany the Countess to the studio the next day. He asked,
however, whether it would not be better to wait, because of the
Countess's deep mourning; but the painter declared that he wished to
translate the first impression she had made upon him, and the striking
contrast of her animated, delicate head, luminous under the golden hair,
with the austere black of her garments.

She came, then, the following day, with her husband, and afterward
with her daughter, whom the artist seated before a table covered with
picture-books.

Olivier Bertin, following his usual custom, showed himself very
reserved. Fashionable women made him a little uneasy, for he hardly knew
them. He supposed them to be at once immoral and shallow, hypocritical
and dangerous, futile and embarrassing. Among the women of the
demi-monde he had had some passing adventures due to his renown, his
lively wit, his elegant and athletic figure, and his dark and animated
face. He preferred them, too; he liked their free w