iard, an historical
painter and member of the Royal Academy; a mediocre artist (though
superior to Davesne, who claimed to have been her teacher), but he was
a fine draughtsman.

To Briard's studio she went with a little friend, a year older than
herself, Mademoiselle Bocquet, who was to become like herself a member
of the Academy of Saint Luke; a girl of a certain talent who, however,
abandoned painting on her early marriage.

The two girls tripped it to Briard's studio like a couple of
school-children, demurely escorted by a servant, who carried their
dinner in a basket; and, as they went to their daily task, be sure the
quick intelligent girl heard more than a little scandal of the
Court--indeed all Paris more than whispered of it--scandal big with
meaning for France, and for little Elizabeth not least of all.

The tears of the king's grief over the dead body of his queen were
scarce dried when Louis the Fifteenth still further degraded the
dignity of the throne of France--still more dangerously brought royalty
into contempt by publicly acknowledging as his new mistress a young
woman from the gutters, the beautiful, laughing, reckless spendthrift
Du Barry, to whom one of the king's first gifts was Louveciennes, where
Elizabeth was afterwards to meet her. Before the year was out Choiseul
fell; and for the remaining four years that were left to the king
France was governed by the milliner Du Barry and her precious trio,
D'Aiguillon, Terray, and Maupeou; and rushed towards the abyss.

However, these things troubled our precocious Elizabeth but little as
yet. The girl grew rapidly in craftsmanship and in personal beauty.
Indeed, she developed towards womanhood as early and as swiftly as in
skill of artistry, being remarkable for her prettiness, her freshness
and delicacy of colouring, and her elegance of figure--early displaying
the airy wit that, with these abundant gifts of her fairy godmother,
were so valuable an aid to the reputation which she was achieving by
her artistry at a time when most children are in the schoolroom.

Her advance was so astounding that every one was talking about the
girl; and the moment soon arrived when her master saw the pupil passing
him in skill of hand and reputation as a painter; gazing dumbfounded at
the stream of the greatest celebrities and personages of the day
flocking to the studio of a girl of but fifteen years of age.

How strange a thing the weaving of the web of Destin