en seemed to me exceedingly improper; somehow their
refusal likened a sort of revolt--the prelude to revolts of a more
serious kind. The Revolution was drawing near; it was, in fact, to
burst out before long.

With the exception of the Count d'Artois, whose portrait I never did,
I successively painted the whole royal family--the royal children;
Monsieur, the King's brother, afterward Louis XVIII.; Madame Royale;
the Countess d'Artois; Madame Elisabeth. The features of this
last-named Princess were not regular, but her face expressed gentle
affability, and the freshness of her complexion was remarkable;
altogether, she had the charm of a pretty shepherdess. She was an
angel of goodness. Many a time have I been a witness to her deeds of
charity on behalf of the poor. All the virtues were in her heart:
she was indulgent, modest, compassionate, devoted. In the
Revolution she displayed heroic courage; she was seen going forward to
meet the cannibals who had come to murder the Queen, saying, "They
will mistake me for her!"

[Illustration: MADAME ELISABETH, SISTER OF LOUIS XVI.]

The portrait I made of Monsieur favoured me with the occasion to
become acquainted with a prince whose wit and learning one could extol
without flattery; it was impossible not to find pleasure in the
conversation of Louis XVIII., who talked on all subjects with equal
degrees of taste and understanding. However, for the sake of variety
no doubt, at some of our sittings he would sing to me, and he would
sing such common songs that I was unable to understand how these
trivial things had ever reached the court. He sang more out of tune
than any one in the whole world. "How do you think I sing?" he asked
me one day. "Like a prince, Your Highness," was my reply.

The Marquis de Montesquiou, equerry-in-chief to Monsieur, would send
me a fine carriage and six to bring me to Versailles and take me back
with my mother, who accompanied me at my request. All along the road
people stood at the windows to see me pass, and every one took their
hats off. This homage rendered to six horses and an outrider amused
me, for on returning to Paris I got into a cab, and nobody took the
slightest notice of me.

About this time I also painted the Princess de Lamballe. Without being
actually pretty, she appeared so at a little distance; she had small
features, complexion of dazzling freshness, superb blond locks, and
was generally elegant in person. The unhappy end of thi