, the latter leaned
forward with the boldness of a Lovelace and imprinted a very loving kiss
upon the rosy cheek of Mademoiselle Reine, who never thought of drawing
back until the offence was committed.

The sole witness to this incident was the little kitchen drudge, whose
blue eyes had been fastened upon the artist's moustache and beard for
some time. They seemed to plunge him into a deep admiration. But at this
unexpected event his amazement was so complete that he dropped his spoon
into the ashes.

"Eh! mein herr, do you wish to go to bed without your supper, as has been
promised you?" said the young man, while the beautiful Reine was trying
to recover her countenance. "Now, then, sing us a little song instead of
staring at me as if I were a giraffe. Your little cook has a nice voice,
Madame Gobillot. Now, then, mein herr, give us a little German lied. I
will give you six kreutzers if you sing in tune, and a flogging if you
grate upon my ears."

He arose and put his album under his arm.

"And my portrait?" exclaimed the young girl, whose cheek was still
burning from the kiss she had just received.

The painter drew near her, smiling, and said in a mysterious tone:

"When I make a portrait of a pretty person like you, I never finish it
the first day. If you will give me another sitting in the morning before
your mother arises I promise to finish this sketch in a way that will not
be displeasing to you."

Mademoiselle Reine saw that her mother was watching her, and walked away
with no reply save a glance which was not discouraging.

"Now, then! You droll little fellow!" exclaimed the artist, as he whirled
on one foot; "triple time; one, two, begin."

The child burst into an Alsatian song in a high, ringing voice.

"Wait a moment! What devilish key are you singing that in? La, la, la,
la; mi, in E major, key of four sharps. By Jove, my little man! here is a
fellow who sings B's and C's away up in the clouds; an E sharp, too!" he
continued, with astonishment, while the singer made a hold upon the
keynote an octave higher in a voice as clear as a crystal.

The artist threw into the fire the cigar which he had just lighted, and
began pacing the kitchen floor, paying no more attention to Mademoiselle
Reine, who felt a little piqued at seeing herself neglected for a kitchen
drudge.

"A rare voice," said he, as he took a great stride; "per Bacco, a very
rare voice. Added to that, he sings very deep; two octaves