y?"

"Not for eight weeks, at the very least, M'sieur. But then it costs
three francs and a half for the return ticket, and since I quarrelled
with Emile...."

"Emile!" said I, quickly. "Who is he?"

"He is a picture-frame maker, M'sieur, and works for a great dealer in
the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre. He was my sweetheart, and he took me out
somewhere every Sunday, till we quarrelled."

"And what did you quarrel about, Mademoiselle?"

My pretty partner laughed and tossed her head.

"Eh, _mon Dieu_! he was jealous."

"Jealous of whom?"

"Of a gentleman--an artist--who wanted to paint me in one of his
pictures. Emile did not like me to go to his _atelier_ so often; and the
gentleman gave me a shawl (such a pretty shawl!) and a canary in a
lovely green and gold cage; and...."

"And Emile objected ?"

"Yes, M'sieur."

"How very unreasonable!"

"That's just what I said, M'sieur."

"And have you never seen him since!"

"Oh, yes--he keeps company now with my cousin Cecile, and she humors him
in everything,"

"And the artist--what of him, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, I sat to him every day, till his picture was finished. _Il etait
bien gentil_. He took me to the theatre several times, and once to a
fete at Versailles; but that was after Emile and I had broken it off."

"Did you find it tiresome, sitting as a model?"

"_Mais, comme ci, et comme ca_! It was a beautiful dress, and became me
wonderfully. To be sure, it was rather cold!"

"May I ask what character you were supposed to represent, Mademoiselle?"

"He said it was Phryne. I have no idea who she was; but I think she must
have found it very uncomfortable if she always wore sandals, and went
without stockings."

I looked down at her little foot, and thought how pretty it must have
looked in the Greek sandal. I pictured her to myself in the graceful
Greek robe, with a chalice in her hand and her temples crowned with
flowers. What a delicious Phryne! And what a happy fellow Praxiteles
must have been!

"It was a privilege, Mademoiselle, to be allowed to see you in so
charming a costume," I said, pressing her hand tenderly. "I envy that
artist from the bottom of my heart."

Mademoiselle Josephine smiled, and returned the pressure.

"One might borrow it," said she, "for the Bal de l'Opera."

"Ah, Mademoiselle, if I dared only aspire to the honor of conducting
you!"

"_Dame_! it is nearly four months to come!"

"True, but in the meantime, Mademoisell