h for two days past Moreau's pretty wife had arrayed herself
coquettishly, the prettiest of her toilets had been reserved for this
very Saturday, when, as she felt no doubt, the artist would arrive for
dinner. A pink gown in very narrow stripes, a pink belt with a richly
chased gold buckle, a velvet ribbon and cross at her throat, and velvet
bracelets on her bare arms (Madame de Serizy had handsome arms and
showed them much), together with bronze kid shoes and thread stockings,
gave Madame Moreau all the appearance of an elegant Parisian. She wore,
also, a superb bonnet of Leghorn straw, trimmed with a bunch of moss
roses from Nattier's, beneath the spreading sides of which rippled the
curls of her beautiful blond hair.

After ordering a very choice dinner and reviewing the condition of her
rooms, she walked about the grounds, so as to be seen standing near a
flower-bed in the court-yard of the chateau, like the mistress of the
house, on the arrival of the coach from Paris. She held above her head a
charming rose-colored parasol lined with white silk and fringed.
Seeing that Pierrotin merely left Mistigris's queer packages with the
concierge, having, apparently, brought no passengers, Estelle retired
disappointed and regretting the trouble of making her useless toilet.
Like many persons who are dressed in their best, she felt incapable of
any other occupation than that of sitting idly in her salon awaiting the
coach from Beaumont, which usually passed about an hour after that
of Pierrotin, though it did not leave Paris till mid-day. She was,
therefore, in her own apartment when the two artists walked up to the
chateau, and were sent by Moreau himself to their rooms where they made
their regulation toilet for dinner. The pair had asked questions of
their guide, the gardener, who told them so much of Moreau's beauty that
they felt the necessity of "rigging themselves up" (studio slang). They,
therefore, put on their most superlative suits and then walked over to
the steward's lodge, piloted by Jacques Moreau, the eldest son, a
hardy youth, dressed like an English boy in a handsome jacket with a
turned-over collar, who was spending his vacation like a fish in water
on the estate where his father and mother reigned as aristocrats.

"Mamma," he said, "here are the two artists sent down by Monsieur
Schinner."

Madame Moreau, agreeably surprised, rose, told her son to place chairs,
and began to display her graces.

"Mamma,