evenings; she lived in the Rue Saint Denis, where her
father had a bric-a-brac shop. It was a long way off, since we lodged
in the Rue de Clery, opposite the Lubert mansion. My mother,
therefore, insisted on my being escorted whenever I went. We likewise
frequently repaired, Mlle. Boquet and I, to Briard's, a painter, who
lent us his etchings and his classical busts. Briard was but a
moderate painter, although he did some ceilings of rather unusual
conception. On the other hand, he could draw admirably, which was the
reason why several young people went to him for lessons. His rooms
were in the Louvre, and each of us brought her little dinner, carried
in a basket by a nurse, in order that we might make a long day of it.

Mlle. Boquet was fifteen years old and I fourteen. We were rival
beauties. I had changed completely and had become good looking. Her
artistic abilities were considerable; as for mine, I made such speedy
progress that I soon was talked about, and this resulted in my making
the gratifying acquaintance of Joseph Vernet. That famous painter gave
me cordial encouragement and much invaluable advice. I also got to
know the Abbe Arnault, of the French Academy. He was a man of strong
imaginative gifts, with a passion for literature and the arts. His
conversation enriched me with ideas, if I may thus express myself. He
would talk of music and painting with the most inspiring ardour. The
Abbe was a warm partisan of Gluck, and at a later date brought the
great composer to see me, for I, too, was passionately fond of music.

My mother was now proud of my face and figure; I was growing stouter,
and presented the fresh appearance proper to youth. On Sundays she
took me to the Tuileries. She was still handsome herself, and after
the lapse of all these years I am free to confess that the manner in
which we were so often followed by men embarrassed more than it
flattered me. Seeing me so irremediably affected by our cruel loss, my
mother deemed it best to take me out of myself by showing me pictures.
Thus we went to the Luxembourg Palace, the gallery of which then
contained some of Rubens's masterpieces, as well as numerous works by
the greatest painters. At present nothing is to be seen there but
pictures of the modern French school. I am the only painter of that
class not represented. The old masters have since been removed to the
Louvre. Rubens has lost much by the change: the difference between
well or badly lighted