; then they talked of themselves--always the
most agreeable and fascinating subject for a chat.

When they met again the next day they felt more at ease, and Bertin,
noting that he pleased and amused her, began to relate some of the
details of his artist life, allowing himself to give free scope to his
reminiscences, in a fanciful way that was peculiar to him.

Accustomed to the dignified presence of the literary lights of the
salons, the Countess was surprised by this almost wild gaiety, which
said unusual things quite frankly, enlivening them with irony; and
presently she began to answer in the same way, with a grace at once
daring and delicate.

In a week's time she had conquered and charmed him by her good humor,
frankness, and simplicity. He had entirely forgotten his prejudices
against fashionable women, and would willingly have declared that they
alone had charm and fascination. As he painted, standing before his
canvas, advancing and retreating, with the movements of a man fighting,
he allowed his fancy to flow freely, as if he had known for a long
time this pretty woman, blond and black, made of sunlight and mourning,
seated before him, laughing and listening, answering him gaily with so
much animation that she lost her pose every moment.

Sometimes he would move far away from her, closing one eye, leaning over
for a searching study of his model's pose; then he would draw very near
to her to note the slightest shadows of her face, to catch the most
fleeting expression, to seize and reproduce that which is in a woman's
face beyond its more outward appearance; that emanation of ideal beauty,
that reflection of something indescribable, that personal and intimate
charm peculiar to each, which causes her to be loved to distraction by
one and not by another.

One afternoon the little girl advanced, and, planting herself before the
canvas, inquired with childish gravity:

"That is mamma, isn't it?"

The artist took her in his arms to kiss her, flattered by that naive
homage to the resemblance of his work.

Another day, when she had been very quiet, they suddenly heard her say,
in a sad little voice:

"Mamma, I am so tired of this!"

The painter was so touched by this first complaint that he ordered a
shopful of toys to be brought to the studio the following day.

Little Annette, astonished, pleased, and always thoughtful, put them in
order with great care, that she might play with them one after another,