le Vervelle
to her parents.

"Virginie," said her mother, "a young person ought not to learn certain
things. When you are married--well, till then, keep quiet."

During this first sitting the Vervelle family became almost intimate
with the worthy artist. They were to come again two days later. As they
went away the father told Virginie to walk in front; but in spite of
this separation, she overheard the following words, which naturally
awakened her curiosity.

"Decorated--thirty-seven years old--an artist who gets orders--puts his
money with our notary. We'll consult Cardot. Hein! Madame de Fougeres!
not a bad name--doesn't look like a bad man either! One might prefer a
merchant; but before a merchant retires from business one can never know
what one's daughter may come to; whereas an economical artist--and then
you know we love Art--Well, we'll see!"

While the Vervelle family discussed Pierre Grassou, Pierre Grassou
discussed in his own mind the Vervelle family. He found it impossible to
stay peacefully in his studio, so he took a walk on the boulevard, and
looked at all the red-haired women who passed him. He made a series of
the oddest reasonings to himself: gold was the handsomest of metals; a
tawny yellow represented gold; the Romans were fond of red-haired women,
and he turned Roman, etc. After two years of marriage what man would
ever care about the color of his wife's hair? Beauty fades,--but
ugliness remains! Money is one-half of all happiness. That night when he
went to bed the painter had come to think Virginie Vervelle charming.

When the three Vervelles arrived on the day of the second sitting the
artist received them with smiles. The rascal had shaved and put on clean
linen; he had also arranged his hair in a pleasing manner, and chosen
a very becoming pair of trousers and red leather slippers with pointed
toes. The family replied with smiles as flattering as those of the
artist. Virginie became the color of her hair, lowered her eyes, and
turned aside her head to look at the sketches. Pierre Grassou thought
these little affectations charming, Virginie had such grace; happily she
didn't look like her father or her mother; but whom did she look like?

During this sitting there were little skirmishes between the family
and the painter, who had the audacity to call pere Vervelle witty. This
flattery brought the family on the double-quick to the heart of the
artist; he gave a drawing to the daughter, an