He  spent  two  months  over  the  portrait,  and  when  it  was
finished,  varnished,  and  framed,  he  looked  upon  it  as  one  of
his  best  works.  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Eouville  had  never
spoken  of  it  again.  Was  this  from  indifference  or  pride?
The  painter  would  not  allow  himself  to  account  for  this  si-
lence. He  joyfully  plotted  with  Adelaide  to  hang  the  pict-
ure in  its  place  when  Madame  de  Eouville  should  be  out.  So
one  day,  during  the  walk  her  mother  usually  took  in  the
Tuileries,  Adelaide  for  the  first  time  went  up  to  Hippolyte's
studio,  on  the  pretext  of  seeing  the  portiait  in  the  good


146  THE  PURSE

light  in  which  it  had  been  painted.  She  stood  speechless
and  motionless,  but  in  ecstatic  contemplation,  in  which  all
a  woman's  feelings  were  merged.  For  are  they  not  all  com-
prehended in  boundless  admiration  for  the  man  she  loves?
When  the  painter,  uneasy  at  her  silence,  leaned  forward  to
look  at  her,  she  held  out  her  hand,  unable  to  speak  a  word,
but  two  tears  fell  from  her  eyes.  Hippolyte  took  her  hand,
and  covered  it  with  kisses;  for  a  minute  they  looked  at
each  other  in  silence,  both  longing  to  confess  their  love,  and
not  daring.  The  painter  kept  her  hand  in  his,  and  the  same
glow,  the  same  throb,  told  them  that  their  hearts  were  both
beating  wildly.  The  young  girl,  too  greatly  agitated,  gently
drew  away  from  Hippolyte,  and  said,  with  a  look  of  the
utmost  simplicity:

"You  will  make  my  mother  very  happy."

"What,  only  your  mother?"  he  asked.
