le listened to his friend, he contemplated him with all the
astonishment of a simpleton. This feeble man was dreaming, in a childish
manner, of this studio life which his friend had been alluding to, and
he questioned Laurent on the subject.

"So," said he, "there were lady models who posed before you in the
nude?"

"Oh! yes," answered Laurent with a smile, and looking at Therese, who
had turned deadly pale.

"You must have thought that very funny," continued Camille, laughing
like a child. "It would have made me feel most awkward. I expect you
were quite scandalised the first time it happened."

Laurent had spread out one of his great hands and was attentively
looking at the palm. His fingers gave slight twitches, and his cheeks
became flushed.

"The first time," he answered, as if speaking to himself, "I fancy I
thought it quite natural. This devilish art is exceedingly amusing, only
it does not bring in a sou. I had a red-haired girl as model who was
superb, firm white flesh, gorgeous bust, hips as wide as . . ."

Laurent, raising his head, saw Therese mute and motionless opposite,
gazing at him with ardent fixedness. Her dull black eyes seemed like
two fathomless holes, and through her parted lips could be perceived the
rosy tint of the inside of her mouth. She seemed as if overpowered by
what she heard, and lost in thought. She continued listening.

Laurent looked from Therese to Camille, and the former painter
restrained a smile. He completed his phrase by a broad voluptuous
gesture, which the young woman followed with her eyes. They were at
dessert, and Madame Raquin had just run downstairs to serve a customer.

When the cloth was removed Laurent, who for some minutes had been
thoughtful, turned to Camille.

"You know," he blurted out, "I must paint your portrait."

This idea delighted Madame Raquin and her son, but Therese remained
silent.

"It is summer-time," resumed Laurent, "and as we leave the office at
four o'clock, I can come here, and let you give me a sitting for a
couple of hours in the evening. The picture will be finished in a week."

"That will be fine," answered Camille, flushed with joy. "You shall dine
with us. I will have my hair curled, and put on my black frock coat."

Eight o'clock struck. Grivet and Michaud made their entry. Olivier and
Suzanne arrived behind them.

When Camille introduced his friend to the company, Grivet pinched his
lips. He detested Laurent whose salary,