er!" she had said. And now
he saw that she smiled at Camille as she went by him into the further
room, and the old bad blood stirred in him and he ached with a fierce
jealousy.

She had denied him. "Never!" she had said.

As he joined the group of men by the door Gontrand turned to him. "Ah,
Prince, have you heard that Michelin has already sold his picture?"

"I am not surprised," the Italian answered suavely. "If I was
rich--but I am not. Who is the happy man?"

"That stout grey-haired American who left half an hour since. Did you
notice him? He is Vandervelde, the great millionaire art collector."

"May one ask the price?"

"Eight thousand francs," answered Camille. He looked tired, but his
blue eyes were very bright. "I am glad, and yet I shall be sorry to
part with it."

"You will still have the charming original," the Prince said not quite
pleasantly.

There was a sudden silence. The men all waited for Camille's answer.
Beyond, in the next room, they heard the two girls splashing the
water, clattering the cups and plates.

The young Frenchman paused in the act of striking a match. He looked
surprised. "But this is the original. I have made no copy."

"I meant--" The Prince stopped short. After all, he thought, he goes
well who goes slowly.

Camille was waiting. "You meant?"

Tor di Rocca had had time to think. "Nothing," he said sweetly.

Silence was again ensuing but Gontrand flung himself into the breach.

"The Duchess said she wanted her daughter's portrait painted."

"She said the same to me."

"Are you going to do it?"

Camille suppressed a yawn. "I don't know. _Qui vivra verra._"

He was glad when they were all gone, Gontrand and Tor di Rocca and the
rest, and he could stretch himself and sigh, and sing at the top of
his voice:

"'Nicholas, je vais me pendre
Qu'est-ce que tu vas dire de cela?
Si vous vous pendez ou v'vous pendez pas
Ca m'est ben egal, Mam'zelle.
Si vous vous pendez ou v'vous pendez pas
Oh, laissez moi planter mes chous!'"

When Olive came out of the inner room presently he told her that he
had sold the "Jeune Fille." "The Duchess has nearly commissioned me to
paint her Melanie. It went off well, don't you think so? Come at nine
to-morrow."

"Yes, if you want me. Good-night, M'sieur Camille," she said. "Are you
coming, Rosina?"

"Why do you wait for her?" he asked curiously. "I should not have
thought you had much in common."

"Sh