very
thankful for that, too; be very thankful for both their sakes that he
had so entirely forgotten her.

The white-wrapt figures seemed to nod most gravely in assent again--it
was only a tree branch in the courtyard frolicking with a moonbeam and
sending a little playful shadow over them that seemed to make them
move, but that was how they always talked to her, and made their
understanding seem so real.

She sat quite still for a little while, gazing at the face of the
"_Fille du Regiment_" before her; and then, clapping her hands softly
together and with an impulsive little exclamation of delight she stood
up excitedly. Perhaps Jean had been working upon the statue, even if
he had not touched the face. And, anyway, there was more to see than
just the face--the figure itself was just as wonderful, just as
beautiful. Quickly, but very carefully, she loosened and removed the
covering from the body and base of the figure, let the covering fall
upon the floor--and, stepping back to look at it, stood suddenly
transfixed, her hands pressed tightly against her bosom, her face white
with fear.

Some one was coming! She strained her eyes across the _atelier_,
holding them for an instant, fascinated, upon the portieres. No, no;
surely she had been mistaken! It could have been only fancy, and--a
low cry came from her lips. The front door had closed; there were
footsteps in the hall, a number of them it seemed; and--and that was
Jean's voice!

"The salon, messieurs, if you please!"

They were coming! They were entering the salon! What could she do?
She could not get away or escape! There was no way to get out! They
were already in the salon! She looked wildly, helplessly around
her--and then, with a little gasp that mingled relief and trepidation,
her eyes fixed on the door of the models' dressing room. She began to
steal toward it, holding her breath. How terribly her heart pounded!
She could not go very fast, because then she would make a noise and
they would hear her. And that was Jean's voice again, this time from
the salon itself, from just on the other side of the portieres, it
seemed.

"The _atelier_ will serve us better than this polished floor,
messieurs."

Oh, if she could only reach the dressing room in time! How hoarse
Jean's voice seemed to be! She was nearly there now--nearly there! If
only the _bon Dieu_ would help her! It was only a step more--just one!
Now--now she was there! She sl