licious!"

The painter added, to prevent Musadieu from taking up the broken thread
of his ideas: "She is prettier than her mother ever was."

To this the other agreed absent-mindedly, repeating "Yes, yes, yes!"
several times in succession, without his mind having yet settled itself
on this new idea.

Olivier endeavored to continue the subject, and in order to attract his
attention by one of Musadieu's own favorite fads, he continued:

"She will have one of the first salons in Paris after her marriage."

That was enough, and, the man of fashion being convinced, as well as the
Inspector of Fine Arts, he began to talk wisely of the social footing on
which the Marquise de Farandal would stand in French society.

Bertin listened to him, and fancied Annette in a large salon full of
light, surrounded by men and women. This vision, too, made him jealous.

They were now going up the Boulevard Malesherbes. As they passed the
Guilleroys' house the painter looked up. Lights seemed to be shining
through the windows, among the openings in the curtains. He suspected
that the Duchess and the Marquis had been invited to come and have a cup
of tea. And a burning rage made him suffer terribly.

He still held Musadieu by the arm, and once or twice attempted to
continue, by contradicting Musadieu's opinions, the talk about the
future Marquise. Even that commonplace voice in speaking of her caused
her charming image to flit beside them in the night.

When they arrived at the painter's door, in the Avenue de Villiers,
Bertin asked: "Will you come in?"

"No, thank you. It is late, and I am going to bed."

"Oh, come up for half an hour, and we'll have a little more talk."

"No, really. It is too late."

The thought of staying there alone, after the anguish he had just
endured, filled Olivier's soul with horror. He had someone with him; he
would keep him.

"Do come up; I want you to choose a study that I have intended for a
long time to offer you."

The other, knowing that painters are not always in a giving mood, and
that the remembrance of promises is short, seized the opportunity. In
his capacity as Inspector of Fine Arts, he possessed a gallery that had
been furnished with skill.

"I am with you," said he.

They entered.

The valet was aroused and soon brought some grog; and the talk was for
some time all about painting. Bertin showed some studies, and begged
Musadieu to take the one that pleased him best; Musadieu hesi