At last the much-bragged-about boxes arrived from Leipzig; three of them not by any means large or splendid; nor did Becky appear to take out any sort of dresses or ornaments from the boxes when they did arrive. But out of one, which contained a mass of her papers (it was that very box which Rawdon Crawley had ransacked in his furious hunt for Becky's concealed money), she took a picture with great glee, which she pinned up in her room, and to which she introduced Jos. It was the portrait of a gentleman in pencil, his face having the advantage of being painted up in pink. He was riding on an elephant away from some cocoa-nut trees and a pagoda: it was an Eastern scene.
"God bless my soul, it is my portrait," Jos cried out. It was he indeed, blooming in youth and beauty, in a nankeen jacket of the cut of 1804. It was the old picture that used to hang up in Russell Square.
"I bought it," said Becky in a voice trembling with emotion; "I went to see if I could be of any use to my kind friends. I have never parted with that picture--I never will."

At last the much-bragged-about boxes arrived from Leipzig; not by any means large or splendid; nor did Becky appear to take any dresses or ornaments from them. But out of one, which contained a mass of papers, she took a picture with great glee, which she pinned up in her room, and to which she introduced Jos. It was the pencil portrait of a gentleman riding on an elephant.
"God bless my soul, it is my portrait," Jos cried out. It was he indeed, blooming in youth and beauty, in a nankeen jacket of the cut of 1804. It was the old picture that used to hang in Russell Square.
"I bought it," said Becky in a voice trembling with emotion. "I went to the sale to see if I could be of any use to my kind friends. I have never parted with that picture - I never will."
