palette, and warm up those cheeks; touch in those little brown spots;
come, butter it well in. Do you pretend to have more sense than
Nature?"

"Look here," said Fougeres, "take my place while I go and write that
note."

Vervelle rolled to the table and whispered in Grassou's ear:--

"Won't that country lout spoilt it?"

"If he would only paint the portrait of your Virginie it would be
worth a thousand times more than mine," replied Fougeres, vehemently.

Hearing that reply the bourgeois beat a quiet retreat to his wife, who
was stupefied by the invasion of this ferocious animal, and very
uneasy at his co-operation in her daughter's portrait.

"Here, follow these indications," said Bridau, returning the palette,
and taking the note. "I won't thank you. I can go back now to
d'Arthez' chateau, where I am doing a dining-room, and Leon de Lora
the tops of the doors--masterpieces! Come and see us."

And off he went without taking leave, having had enough of looking at
Virginie.

"Who is that man?" asked Madame Vervelle.

"A great artist," answered Grassou.