oms. I could see it by her
blushes and by the instinctive movement she made to smooth her disordered
curls.

The husband had hardly answered her call before she left us and went off
to the end of the room, into the obscure recesses of an alcove
overcrowded with furniture. There she bent over an oblong object, which I
could not quite see at first, and rocked it with her hand.

"Monsieur Mouillard," said she, looking up to me--"Monsieur Mouillard,
this is my son, Pierre!"

What tender pride in those words, and the smile which accompanied them!
With a finger she drew one of the curtains aside. Under the blue muslin,
between the pillow and the white coverlet, I discovered two little black
eyes and a tuft of golden hair.

"Isn't he a little rogue!" she went on, and began to caress the waking
baby.

Meanwhile Sylvestre had been talking to Plumet at the other end of the
room.

"Out of the question," said the frame-maker; "we are up to our knees in
arrears; twenty orders waiting."

"I ask you to oblige me as a friend."

"I wish I could oblige you, Monsieur Lampron; but if I made you a
promise, I should not be able to keep it."

"What a pity! All was so well arranged, too. The sketch was to have been
hung with my two engravings. Poor Fabien! I was saving up a surprise for
you. Come and look here."

I went across. Sylvestre opened his portfolio.

"Do you recognize it?"

At once I recognized them. M. Charnot's back; Jeanne's profile, exactly
like her; a forest nook; the parasol on the ground; the cane stuck into
the grass; a bit of genre, perfect in truth and execution.

"When did you do that?"

"Last night."

"And you want to exhibit it?"

"At the Salon."

"But, Sylvestre, it is too late to send in to the Salon. The Ides of
March are long past."

"Yes, for that very reason I have had the devil of a time, intriguing all
the morning. With a large picture I never should have succeeded; but with
a bit of a sketch, six inches by nine--"

"Bribery of officials, then?"

"Followed by substitution, which is strictly forbidden. I happened to
have hung there between two engravings a little sketch of underwoods not
unlike this; one comes down, the other is hung instead--a little bit of
jobbery of which I am still ashamed. I risked it all for you, in the hope
that she would come and recognize the subject."

"Of course she will recognize it, and understand; how on earth could she
help it? My dear Sylvestre, how ca