nds. "It was a
good idea!"

"Amazed, I do not doubt," said Marien, somewhat anxiously. "But suppose
we take our pose--Stay!--keep just as you are. Your hands before you,
hanging down--so. Your fingers loosely clasped--that's it. Turn your
head a little. What a lovely neck!--how well her head is set upon it!"
he cried, involuntarily.

Jacqueline glanced at Fraulein Schult, who was at the farther end of the
studio, busy with her crochet. "You see," said the look, "that he has
found out I am pretty--that I am worth something--all the rest will soon
happen."

And, while Marien was sketching in the graceful figure that posed before
him, Jacqueline's imagination was investing it with the white robe of a
bride. She had a vision of the painter growing more and more resolved
to ask her hand in marriage as the portrait grew beneath his brush; of
course, her father would say at first: "You are mad--you must wait.
I shall not let Jacqueline marry till she is seventeen." But long
engagements, she had heard, had great delights, though in France they
are not the fashion. At last, after being long entreated, she was sure
that M. and Madame de Nailles would end by giving their consent--they
were so fond of Marien. Standing there, dreaming this dream, which gave
her face an expression of extreme happiness, Jacqueline made a most
admirable model. She had not felt in the least fatigued when Marien at
last said to her, apologetically: "You must be ready to drop--I forgot
you were not made of wood; we will go on to-morrow."

Jacqueline, having put on her gray jacket with as much contempt for
it as Cinderella may have felt for her rags after her successes at the
ball, departed with the delightful sensation of having made a bold first
step, and being eager to make another.

Thus it was with all her sittings, though some left her anxious and
unhappy, as for instance when Marien, absorbed in his work, had not
paused, except to say, "Turn your head a little--you are losing the
pose." Or else, "Now you may rest for today."

On such occasions she would watch him anxiously as he painted swiftly,
his brush making great splashes on the canvas, his dark features wearing
a scowl, his chin on his breast, a deep frown upon his forehead, on
which the hair grew low. It was evident that at such times he had no
thought of pleasing her. Little did she suspect that he was saying to
himself: "Fool that I am!--A man of my age to take pleasure in seeing
th