look at that picture. It seemed to do her an injury by
associating her with her nursery. Probably that was the reason why she
had been so pleased to hear Hubert Marien say unexpectedly that she was
now ready for the portrait which had been often joked about, every one
putting it off to the period, always remote, when "the may-pole" should
have developed a pretty face and figure.

And now she was disquieted lest the idea of taking her picture, which she
felt was very flattering, should remain inoperative in the painter's
brain. She wanted it carried out at once, as soon as possible. Jacqueline
detested waiting, and for some reason, which she never talked about, the
years that seemed so short and swift to her stepmother seemed to her to
be terribly long. Marien himself had said: "There is a great interval
between a dream and its execution." These words had thrown cold water on
her sudden joy. She wanted to force him to keep his promise--to paint her
portrait immediately. How to do this was the problem her little head,
reclining on Madame de Nailles's lap after the departure of their
visitors, had been endeavoring to solve.

Should she communicate her wish to her indulgent stepmother, who for the
most part willed whatever she wished her to do? A vague instinct--an
instinct of some mysterious danger--warned her that in this case her
father would be her better confidant.

CHAPTER III

THE FRIEND OF THE FAY

A week later M. de Nailles said to Hubert Marien, as they were smoking
together in the conservatory, after the usual little family dinner on
Wednesday was over:

"Well!--when would you like Jacqueline to come to sit for her picture?"

"What! are you thinking about that?" cried the painter, letting his cigar
fall in his astonishment.

"She told me that you had proposed to make her portrait."

"The sly little minx!" thought Marien. "I only spoke of painting it some
day," he said, with embarrassment.

"Well! she would like that 'some day' to be now, and she has a reason for
wanting it at once, which, I hope, will decide you to gratify her. The
third of June is Sainte-Clotilde's day, and she has taken it into her
head that she would like to give her mamma a magnificent present--a
present that, of course, we shall unite to give her. For some time past I
have been thinking of asking you to paint a portrait of my daughter,"
continued M. de Nailles, who had in fact had no more wish for the
portrait than he had h