"No, mademoiselle, on the contrary it is a great pleasure to me."

"Oh! you say that in a very peculiar tone."

I did not reply but went on with my work. Caroline became very serious and did not say another word.

"Would you mind smiling a little, mademoiselle? You do not usually have such a serious expression."

"It's because you say nothing to amuse me, and you yourself have sometimes an expression--oh! mon Dieu! what an agreeable man you are!"

"I may have memories which are not very cheerful; and what I am doing at this moment reminds me----"

"Of what?"

"Of a person whose portrait I once painted."

"A woman?"

"Yes."

"A woman whom you loved, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes!"

Caroline changed color and rose abruptly, saying:

"That's enough for to-day; I won't pose any more."

"But, mademoiselle, we have just begun."

"I am very sorry, but I am tired; besides, I don't care any longer about having my portrait painted!"

"What new whim is this?"

"Well, monsieur, if I choose to have whims----"

"I am very sorry too, but I have begun your portrait, and I want to finish it."

"I tell you that I don't want a portrait; you would be obliged to keep it, and I should like to know what good it would do you? A man doesn't wear a portrait. Oh, yes! in a locket sometimes, I believe.--Well, well!

now you are a.s.suming your solemn expression again. Well, here I am, monsieur, here I am, don't be angry; great heaven! I will pose as long as you wish."

She resumed her seat. I glanced at her; she had hastily wiped her eyes, and yet I saw tears still glistening in them. What an extraordinary woman! What a combination of coquetry and sensibility! What on earth was going on in her heart? I was sometimes afraid to guess.

We worked for a long time, but I made little progress with my task, for I was absent-minded; the past and the present engrossed me in turn.

Caroline herself was thoughtful. Sometimes she talked to me about Paris, and I divined that she was anxious to learn what my business was. I saw no reason why I should not tell her that I was an advocate. She seemed pleased to learn that I practised that profession. Why did she take so much interest in my concerns? I had not addressed a word of love to her.

Our second sitting was more cheerful; we were becoming accustomed to each other. When I sighed, she scolded me and told me to work more carefully. When she was pensive, I begged her to smile, to play the coquette as she did in society. Those sittings pa.s.sed very quickly.

Really I could hardly recognize myself; there were times when I was afraid that I was becoming too thoroughly accustomed to Caroline's company. Ernest was quite right when he urged me to paint pretty women, in order to obtain distraction from my troubles.

XX

THE GAZETTE DES TRIBUNAUX

We had had ten sittings and the portrait was almost finished. In fact it might have been left as it was, for Caroline was delighted with it, and her uncle considered it as good a likeness as that of himself as Scapin; but I desired to do something more to it; and Caroline herself wished for some slight changes in the dress and in the hair. I thought that we should both be sorry when the sittings came to an end.

One evening, when the weather was bad and we had remained in the hotel with several other guests, the conversation became general. An old gentleman who was almost as loquacious as Monsieur Roquencourt, but much less affable, told us about a scandalous lawsuit which was reported in the Gazette des Tribunaux. It was a husband's pet.i.tion for divorce on the ground of his wife's infidelity.

"There are many interesting details," he said, "which the newspaper gives with its own reflections thereon."

The old gentleman went up to his room to get the paper, which he was determined to read to us. I would gladly have dispensed with that favor.

Whenever that subject was discussed I felt ill at ease. Those gentlemen laughed and jested freely concerning betrayed husbands. To no purpose did I pretend to laugh with them; I could not do it. I would have liked to change the subject, but I dared not; it seemed to me that they would fathom my motive. Luckily, Mademoiselle Derbin was beside me, and she did not seem to pay much attention to the trial reported by the Gazette des Tribunaux.

"Messieurs," said an Englishman, "among us, the subject is viewed in a different light. It becomes almost a business transaction. We make the co-respondent pay very heavy damages."

"Can damages restore the honor of an outraged husband?" demanded an old Spaniard. "In my country, the reparation is swift, but it is terrible!"

"Messieurs," said Monsieur Roquencourt, "I remember acting in _Le Mariage de Figaro_ with a friend of mine who was in the plight of the husband in the Gazette des Tribunaux. He was playing Almaviva. As everybody knew what had happened to him, you can imagine the personal applications of his lines that were made during the performance. There was much laughter; but for all that he acted very well. I was Figaro. I had the prettiest costume it is possible to imagine; white and cherry colored, all silk and embroidery and spangles. It cost me a great deal!

But Dugazon, who saw it, was so delighted with it that he asked me to lend it to him so that he could have one made like it."

At that moment I was overjoyed to hear Monsieur Roquencourt talk about the parts he had acted; I hoped that that would change the subject permanently, and I was about to ask him for some more anecdotes of Dugazon when the infernal old gentleman arrived, newspaper in hand, crying:

"Here is the Gazette; I a.s.sure you that there are some very amusing details, which one may safely read before ladies, however."

"Does this conversation amuse you?" I asked Caroline in an undertone.

"Do you suppose that I listen to these chatterboxes? No indeed; I think that my thoughts are worth quite as much as their words."

As she spoke, she cast a tender glance at me and laid her hand on my arm, for I had taken a seat beside her. I lowered my eyes; I was entirely engrossed by the Gazette des Tribunaux.

The old gentleman put on his spectacles and drew near a lamp. We were definitively condemned to listen to the newspaper. There are people who insist upon amusing you against your will.

"This is the article, messieurs; it is in the Paris news; and the names are in big letters."

"That is very pleasant for the husband!" said the Spaniard, under his breath; "all Europe will know that he is a cuckold!"

"When a husband is foolish enough to go to law about such a bagatelle,"

said a young Frenchman, "he well deserves to have the whole world laugh at him."

"Bagatelle!" repeated the Spaniard, "when a man's honor is involved!"

"What a devil of a place has he put his honor in? Ha! ha! It was Beaumarchais who said that, and Beaumarchais had a devilish lot of wit!

When I acted his Figaro, I was with----"

"I say, messieurs, don't you want to hear the newspaper?"

"Yes, indeed; we are listening."