e. Seeing that the painter had
read her soul, Adelaide cast down her eyes with the instinct of reserve
which is the secret of a maiden's heart. Hippolyte, finding nothing
to say, and feeling almost timid, took down the picture, examined it
gravely, carrying it to the light of the window, and then went away,
without saying a word to Mademoiselle Leseigneur but, "I will return it
soon."

During this brief moment they both went through one of those storms of
agitation of which the effects in the soul may be compared to those of a
stone flung into a deep lake. The most delightful waves of thought rise
and follow each other, indescribable, repeated, and aimless, tossing the
heart like the circular ripples, which for a long time fret the waters,
starting from the point where the stone fell.

Hippolyte returned to the studio bearing the portrait. His easel was
ready with a fresh canvas, and his palette set, his brushes cleaned, the
spot and the light carefully chosen. And till the dinner hour he worked
at the painting with the ardor artists throw into their whims. He went
again that evening to the Baronne de Rouville's, and remained from
nine till eleven. Excepting the different topics of conversation, this
evening was exactly like the last. The two old men arrived at the same
hour, the same game of piquet was played, the same speeches made by the
players, the sum lost by Adelaide's friend was not less considerable
than on the previous evening; only Hippolyte, a little bolder, ventured
to chat with the young girl.

A week passed thus, and in the course of it the painter's feelings and
Adelaide's underwent the slow and delightful transformations which bring
two souls to a perfect understanding. Every day the look with which the
girl welcomed her friend grew more intimate, more confiding, gayer, and
more open; her voice and manner became more eager and more familiar.
They laughed and talked together, telling each other their thoughts,
speaking of themselves with the simplicity of two children who have made
friends in a day, as much as if they had met constantly for three years.
Schinner wished to be taught piquet. Being ignorant and a novice, he, of
course, made blunder after blunder, and like the old man, he lost almost
every game. Without having spoken a word of love the lovers knew that
they were all in all to one another. Hippolyte enjoyed exerting his
power over his gentle little friend, and many concessions were made to