is dear to you, others will see nothing
at all. Will you allow me to reproduce the likeness on canvas? It will
be more permanently recorded then than on that sheet of paper. Grant me,
I beg, as a neighborly favor, the pleasure of doing you this service.
There are times when an artist is glad of a respite from his greater
undertakings by doing work of less lofty pretensions, so it will be a
recreation for me to paint that head."

The old lady flushed as she heard the painter's words, and Adelaide shot
one of those glances of deep feeling which seem to flash from the soul.
Hippolyte wanted to feel some tie linking him with his two neighbors, to
conquer a right to mingle in their life. His offer, appealing as it
did to the liveliest affections of the heart, was the only one he could
possibly make; it gratified his pride as an artist, and could not
hurt the feelings of the ladies. Madame Leseigneur accepted, without
eagerness or reluctance, but with the self-possession of a noble soul,
fully aware of the character of bonds formed by such an obligation,
while, at the same time, they are its highest glory as a proof of
esteem.

"I fancy," said the painter, "that the uniform is that of a naval
officer."

"Yes," she said, "that of a captain in command of a vessel. Monsieur de
Rouville--my husband--died at Batavia in consequence of a wound received
in a fight with an English ship they fell in with off the Asiatic coast.
He commanded a frigate of fifty-six guns and the _Revenge_ carried
ninety-six. The struggle was very unequal, but he defended his ship so
bravely that he held out till nightfall and got away. When I came back
to France Bonaparte was not yet in power, and I was refused a pension.
When I applied again for it, quite lately, I was sternly informed that
if the Baron de Rouville had emigrated I should not have lost him; that
by this time he would have been a rear-admiral; finally, his Excellency
quoted I know not what degree of forfeiture. I took this step, to which
I was urged by my friends, only for the sake of my poor Adelaide. I have
always hated the idea of holding out my hand as a beggar in the name of
a grief which deprives a woman of voice and strength. I do not like this
money valuation for blood irreparably spilt----"

"Dear mother, this subject always does you harm."

In response to this remark from Adelaide, the Baronne Leseigneur bowed,
and was silent.

"Monsieur," said the young girl to Hippolyte,