her, with a curtain hung over it to prolong
the suspense, had nothing Japanese about it whatever. Madame de Nailles
received the good wishes of her family, responded to them with all
proper cordiality, and then was dragged up joyously to a picture hanging
on the wall of her room, but still concealed under the cloth that
covered it.

"How good of you!" she said, with all confidence to her husband.

"It is a picture by Marien!--A portrait by Marien! A likeness of
Jacqueline!"

And he uncovered the masterpiece of the great artist, expecting to be
joyous in the joy with which she would receive it. But something strange
occurred. Madame de Nailles sprang back a step or two, stretching out
her arms as if repelling an apparition, her face was distorted, her head
was turned away; then she dropped into the nearest seat and burst into
tears.

"Mamma!--dear little mamma!--what is it?" cried Jacqueline, springing
forward to kiss her.

Madame de Nailles disengaged herself angrily from her embrace.

"Let me alone!" she cried, "let me alone!--How dared you?"

And impetuously, hardly restraining a gesture of horror and hate, she
rushed into her own chamber. Thither her husband followed her, anxious
and bewildered, and there he witnessed a nervous attack which ended in a
torrent of reproaches:

Was it possible that he had, not seen the impropriety of those sittings
to Marien? Oh, yes! No doubt he was an old friend of the family, but
that did not prevent all these deceptions, all these disguises, and
all the other follies which he had sanctioned--he--Jacqueline's
father!--from being very improper. Did he wish to take from her all
authority over his child?--a girl who was already too much disposed to
emancipate herself. Her own efforts had all been directed to curb this
alarming propensity--yes, alarming--alarming for the future. And all in
vain! There was no use in saying more. 'Mon Dieu'! had he no trust in
her devotion to his child, in her prudence and her foresight, that he
must thwart her thus? And she had always imagined that for ten years she
had faithfully fulfilled a mother's duties! What ingratitude from every
one! Mademoiselle Schult should be sent away at once. Jacqueline should
go to a convent. They would break off all intercourse with Marien. They
had conspired against her--every one.

And then she wept more bitterly than ever--tears of rage, salt tears
which rubbed the powder off her cheeks and disfigured the fac