tive curls, while his full beard and mustache
relieved his face from the charge of effeminacy.

Ernest was yet engaged in the contemplation of the unfinished work--or
rather in dreaming of the bright original--when a light tap was heard
at his door. He opened it eagerly, and his poor studio was suddenly
illuminated, as it were, by the radiant apparition of Rose d'Amour.
She was dressed with a charming simplicity, which well became a sylph
like form, that required no adventitious aid from art.

"Good morning, Monsieur Lavalle!" said the beautiful actress,
cheerfully, as she dropped gracefully into the _fauteuil_ prepared for
her reception. "You find me in the best possible humor to-day, thanks
to this bright morning sun, and to the success of last night. _Mon
Dieu!_ so many bouquets! you can't think! Really, the life of an
_artiste_ begins to be amusing. Don't you find it so, as a painter?"

"I confess to you, mademoiselle, I have my moments of despondency."

"With your fine talent! Think better of yourself. I hope, at least,
that I have not been so unlucky as to surprise you in one of those
inopportune moments."

"Ah, mademoiselle," said the painter, "if it were so, one of your
smiles would dispel the cloud in a moment."

"Really!" replied the actress, gayly. "Are you quite sure there is no
flattery in the remark? I am aware that flattery is an essential part
of an artist's profession."

"Not of a true artist's," replied Ernest. "The aim and end of all art
is truth; and he who forgets it is untrue to his high mission."

"True," said the lady. "Well, then, _faites votre possible_--as
Napoleon said to his friend David--for I am anxious that this portrait
shall be a _chef-d'oeuvre_. I design it for a present."

"With such a subject before me," replied the painter "I could not
labor more conscientiously, if the picture were designed for myself."

The sitting passed away rapidly, for the artist; and he was surprised
when the lady, after consulting her watch, rose hastily, and
exclaimed, "That odious rehearsal! I must leave you--but you ought to
be satisfied, for I have given you two hours of my valuable time.
Adieu, then, until to-morrow."

With a smile that seemed natural to her, the beautiful girl vanished,
taking with her half the sunshine of the room.

The painter continued his labor of love. Indeed, so absorbed was he in
his employment, that he did not notice the entrance of a visitor,
until he felt a ligh