o louis d'or on the table, not without temper--

"Forty francs," he exclaimed, "the exact sum.--Deuce take it! It is
eleven o'clock."

"It is eleven o'clock," repeated the silent figure, looking at the
painter.

The young man, hearing these words rather more distinctly than all the
others, thought it time to retire. Coming back to the world of ordinary
ideas, he found a few commonplace remarks to make, took leave of the
Baroness, her daughter, and the two strangers, and went away, wholly
possessed by the first raptures of true love, without attempting to
analyze the little incidents of the evening.

On the morrow the young painter felt the most ardent desire to see
Adelaide once more. If he had followed the call of his passion, he would
have gone to his neighbor's door at six in the morning, when he went
to his studio. However, he still was reasonable enough to wait till the
afternoon. But as soon as he thought he could present himself to Madame
de Rouville, he went downstairs, rang, blushing like a girl, shyly asked
Mademoiselle Leseigneur, who came to let him in, to let him have the
portrait of the Baron.

"But come in," said Adelaide, who had no doubt heard him come down from
the studio.

The painter followed, bashful and out of countenance, not knowing what
to say, happiness had so dulled his wit. To see Adelaide, to hear the
rustle of her skirt, after longing for a whole morning to be near her,
after starting up a hundred time--"I will go down now"--and not to have
gone; this was to him life so rich that such sensations, too greatly
prolonged, would have worn out his spirit. The heart has the singular
power of giving extraordinary value to mere nothings. What joy it is to
a traveler to treasure a blade of grass, an unfamiliar leaf, if he has
risked his life to pluck it! It is the same with the trifles of love.

The old lady was not in the drawing-room. When the young girl found
herself there, alone with the painter, she brought a chair to stand on,
to take down the picture; but perceiving that she could not unhook
it without setting her foot on the chest of drawers, she turned to
Hippolyte, and said with a blush:

"I am not tall enough. Will you get it down?"

A feeling of modesty, betrayed in the expression of her face and the
tones of her voice, was the real motive of her request; and the young
man, understanding this, gave her one of those glances of intelligence
which are the sweetest language of lov