bargain
with this strange and whimsical being?

Filled with such thoughts, Porbus said to the old man, "Is it not woman
for woman? Poussin lends his mistress to your eyes."

"What sort of mistress is that?" cried Frenhofer. "She will betray him
sooner or later. Mine will be to me forever faithful."

"Well," returned Porbus, "then let us say no more. But before you find,
even in Asia, a woman as beautiful, as perfect, as the one I speak of,
you may be dead, and your picture forever unfinished."

"Oh, it is finished!" said Frenhofer. "Whoever sees it will find a woman
lying on a velvet bed, beneath curtains; perfumes are exhaling from a
golden tripod by her side: he will be tempted to take the tassels of
the cord that holds back the curtain; he will think he sees the bosom of
Catherine Lescaut,--a model called the Beautiful Nut-girl; he will see
it rise and fall with the movement of her breathing. Yet--I wish I could
be sure--"

"Go to Asia, then," said Porbus hastily, fancying he saw some hesitation
in the old man's eye.

Porbus made a few steps towards the door of the room. At this moment
Gillette and Nicolas Poussin reached the entrance of the house. As the
young girl was about to enter, she dropped the arm of her lover and
shrank back as if overcome by a presentiment. "What am I doing here?"
she said to Poussin, in a deep voice, looking at him fixedly.

"Gillette, I leave you mistress of your actions; I will obey your will.
You are my conscience, my glory. Come home; I shall be happy, perhaps,
if you, yourself--"

"Have I a self when you speak thus to me? Oh, no! I am but a child.
Come," she continued, seeming to make a violent effort. "If our love
perishes, if I put into my heart a long regret, thy fame shall be
the guerdon of my obedience to thy will. Let us enter. I may yet live
again,--a memory on thy palette."

Opening the door of the house the two lovers met Porbus coming out.
Astonished at the beauty of the young girl, whose eyes were still wet
with tears, he caught her all trembling by the hand and led her to the
old master.

"There!" he cried; "is she not worth all the masterpieces in the world?"

Frenhofer quivered. Gillette stood before him in the ingenuous, simple
attitude of a young Georgian, innocent and timid, captured by brigands
and offered to a slave-merchant. A modest blush suffused her cheeks,
her eyes were lowered, her hands hung at her sides, strength seemed to
abandon her, and her