touches here and
there--" She had taken the chisel and the little sponge and pushed the
stand into what remained of the daylight. "It could be done in a few
hours. But it couldn't go to the exhibition. To-day is the 22nd; all the
exhibits have been in a long time."

"Bah! With influence----"

She frowned, and her bad expression came back, her mouth turning down.

"That's true. The _protege_ of the Duc de Mora. Oh! you have no need to
apologize. I know what people say, and I don't care _that_--" and she
threw a little ball of clay at the wall, where it stuck, flat. "Perhaps
men, by dint of supposing the thing which is not--But let us leave these
infamies alone," she said, holding up her aristocratic head. "I really
want to please you, Minerva. Your friend shall go to the _Salon_ this
year."

Just then a smell of caramel and warm pastry filled the studio, where
the shadows were falling like a fine gray dust, and the fairy appeared,
a dish of sweetmeats in her hand. She looked more fairy-like than ever,
bedecked and rejuvenated; dressed in a white gown which showed her
beautiful arms through sleeves of old lace; they were beautiful still,
for the arm is the beauty that fades last.

"Look at my _kuchen_, dearie; they are such a success this time. Oh! I
beg your pardon. I did not see you had friends. And it is M. Paul! How
are you M. Paul? Taste one of my cakes."

And the charming old lady, whose dress seemed to lend her an
extraordinary vivacity, came towards him, balancing the plate on the
tips of her tiny fingers.

"Don't bother him. You can give him some at dinner," said Felicia
quietly.

"At dinner?"

The dancer was so astonished that she almost upset her pretty pastries,
which looked as light and airy and delicious as herself.

"Yes, he is staying to dine with us. Oh! I beg it of you," she added,
with a particular insistence as she saw he was going to refuse, "I beg
you to stay. Don't say no. You will be rendering me a real service by
staying to-night. Come--I didn't hesitate a few minutes ago."

She had taken his hand; and in truth might have been struck by a strange
disproportion between her request and the supplicating, anxious tone in
which it was made. Paul still attempted to excuse himself. He was not
dressed. How could she propose it!--a dinner at which she would have
other guests.

"My dinner? But I will countermand it! That is the kind of person I am.
We shall be alone, just the three of us, w