d quite ill
with uncertainty and anguish. And the pity of it was, that the central
figure alone worried him, for he was well satisfied with the rest of
the painting, the trees of the background, the two little women and the
gentleman in the velvet coat, all finished and vigorous. February was
drawing to a close; he had only a few days left to send his picture to
the Salon; it was quite a disaster.

One evening, in Christine's presence, he began swearing, and all at once
a cry of fury escaped him: 'After all, by the thunder of heaven, is it
possible to stick one woman's head on another's shoulders? I ought to
chop my hand off.'

From the depths of his heart a single idea now rose to his brain: to
obtain her consent to pose for the whole figure. It had slowly sprouted,
first as a simple wish, quickly discarded as absurd; then had come a
silent, constantly-renewed debate with himself; and at last, under the
spur of necessity, keen and definite desire. The recollection of the
morning after the storm, when she had accepted his hospitality, haunted
and tortured him. It was she whom he needed; she alone could enable
him to realise his dream, and he beheld her again in all her youthful
freshness, beaming and indispensable. If he could not get her to pose,
he might as well give up his picture, for no one else would ever satisfy
him. At times, while he remained seated for hours, distracted in front
of the unfinished canvas, so utterly powerless that he no longer knew
where to give a stroke of the brush, he formed heroic resolutions. The
moment she came in he would throw himself at her feet; he would tell her
of his distress in such touching words that she would perhaps consent.
But as soon as he beheld her, he lost all courage, he averted his eyes,
lest she might decipher his thoughts in his instinctive glances. Such
a request would be madness. One could not expect such a service from a
friend; he would never have the audacity to ask.

Nevertheless, one evening as he was getting ready to accompany her, and
as she was putting on her bonnet, with her arms uplifted, they remained
for a moment looking into each other's eyes, he quivering, and she
suddenly becoming so grave, so pale, that he felt himself detected. All
along the quays they scarcely spoke; the matter remained unmentioned
between them while the sun set in the coppery sky. Twice afterwards he
again read in her looks that she was aware of his all-absorbing thought.
In f