eport that Mademoiselle Giselle is worthy of the most
profound respect," continued the pitiless painter. "I lay myself at her
feet--and at yours. Now I am going to slip away in the English fashion.
Good-evening."

"Why do you go so soon? You can't do any more work today."

"No, it has been a day lost--that is true."

"That's polite! By the way"--here Jacqueline became very red and she
spoke rapidly--"what made you just now stare at me so persistently?"

"I? Impossible that I could have permitted myself to stare at you,
Mademoiselle."

"That is just what you did, though. I thought you had found something to
find fault with. What could it be? I fancied there was something wrong
with my hair, something absurd that you were laughing at. You always do
laugh, you know."

"Wrong with your hair? It is always wrong. But that is not your fault.
You are not responsible for its looking like a hedgehog's."

"Hedgehogs haven't any hair," said Jacqueline, much hurt by the
observation.

"True, they have only prickles, which remind me of the susceptibility
of your temper. I beg your pardon I was looking at you critically. Being
myself indulgent and kindhearted, I was only looking at you from
an artist's point of view--as is always allowable in my profession.
Remember, I see you very rarely by daylight. I am obliged to work as
long as the light allows me. Well, in the light of this April sunshine
I was saying to myself--excuse my boldness!--that you had reached the
right age for a picture."

"For a picture? Were you thinking of painting me?" cried Jacqueline,
radiant with pleasure.

"Hold a moment, please. Between a dream and its execution lies a great
space. I was only imagining a picture of you."

"But my portrait would be frightful."

"Possibly. But that would depend on the skill of the painter."

"And yet a model should be--I am so thin," said Jacqueline, with
confusion and discouragement.

"True; your limbs are like a grasshopper's."

"Oh! you mean my legs--but my arms...."

"Your arms must be like your legs. But, sitting as you were just now, I
could see only your head, which is better. So! one has to be accountable
for looking at you? Mademoiselle feels herself affronted if any one
stares at her! I will remember this in future. There, now! suppose,
instead of quarrelling with me, you were to go and cast yourself into
the arms of your cousin Fred."

"Fred! Fred d'Argy! Fred is at Brest."

"Where are your eye