s to be the enemy of the poor
and of the rich, is to be the enemy of the human race."

"Enemies of the human race!" replied Choulette, while stirring his
coffee. "That is the phrase the harsh Roman applied to the Christians
who talked of divine love to him."

Dechartre, seated near Madame Martin, questioned her on her tastes
about art and beauty, sustained, led, animated her admirations, at times
prompted her with caressing brusquerie, wished her to see all that he
had seen, to love all that he loved.

He wished that she should go in the gardens at the first flush of
spring. He contemplated her in advance on the noble terraces; he saw
already the light playing on her neck and in her hair; the shadow
of laurel-trees falling on her eyes. For him the land and the sky of
Florence had nothing more to do than to serve as an adornment to this
young woman.

He praised the simplicity with which she dressed, the characteristics
of her form and of her grace, the charming frankness of the lines which
every one of her movements created. He liked, he said, the animated and
living, subtle, and free gowns which one sees so rarely, which one never
forgets.

Although she had been much lauded, she had never heard praise which had
pleased her more. She knew she dressed well, with bold and sure
taste. But no man except her father had made to her on the subject the
compliments of an expert. She thought that men were capable of feeling
only the effect of a gown, without understanding the ingenious details
of it. Some men who knew gowns disgusted her by their effeminate air.
She was resigned to the appreciation of women only, and these had in
their appreciation narrowness of mind, malignity, and envy. The artistic
admiration of Dechartre astonished and pleased her. She received
agreeably the praise he gave her, without thinking that perhaps it was
too intimate and almost indiscreet.

"So you look at gowns, Monsieur Dechartre?"

No, he seldom looked at them. There were so few women well dressed, even
now, when women dress as well as, and even better, than ever. He found
no pleasure in seeing packages of dry-goods walk. But if a woman having
rhythm and line passed before him, he blessed her.

He continued, in a tone a little more elevated:

"I can not think of a woman who takes care to deck herself every day,
without meditating on the great lesson which she gives to artists. She
dresses for a few hours, and the care she has taken is n