ed; she looked a woman.
Marriage she had refused out of love to her father and mother, feeling
herself necessary to the comfort of their old age. Her taste for
painting took the place of the passions and interests which usually
absorb her sex.

"You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles," she said, after advancing
a little way among her companions. "Good-morning, my little Laure," she
added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl who was
painting apart from the rest. "That head is strong,--the flesh tints a
little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent."

Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces beamed
with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile brightened the
lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and walked slowly to
her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and paintings on her way,
and bidding good-morning to each of the young girls of the first group,
not observing the unusual curiosity excited by her presence. She was
like a queen in the midst of her court; she paid no attention to the
profound silence that reigned among the patricians, and passed before
their camp without pronouncing a single word. Her absorption seemed so
great that she sat down before her easel, opened her color-box, took up
her brushes, drew on her brown sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at
her picture, examined her palette, without, apparently, thinking of what
she was doing. All heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned
toward her. If the young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their
impatience with the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the
less directed on Ginevra.

"She hasn't noticed it!" said Mademoiselle Roguin.

At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she
had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the
group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now
separated her from them; but she said nothing.

"It hasn't occurred to her that they meant to insult her," said Matilde;
"she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls will be
if she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of bounds,
mademoiselle," she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra.

The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. She
rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side of
the partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, an