with her hands hanging by her side, and yet she did not go, but stared
straight in front of her. As her eyes met the big canvas turned to the
wall she felt a wish to see it, but did not dare to ask. Nothing
detained her; still she seemed to be looking around as if she had
forgotten something there, something which she could not name. At last
she stepped towards the door.

Claude was already opening it, and a small loaf placed erect against
the post tumbled into the studio.

'You see,' he said, 'you ought to have stopped to breakfast with me.
My doorkeeper brings the bread up every morning.'

She again refused with a shake of the head. When she was on the
landing she turned round, and for a moment remained quite still. Her
gay smile had come back; she was the first to hold out her hand.

'Thank you, thank you very much.'

He had taken her small gloved hand within his large one, all
pastel-stained as it was. Both hands remained like that for a few
moments, closely and cordially pressed. The young girl was still
smiling at him, and he had a question on the tip of his tongue: 'When
shall I see you again?' But he felt ashamed to ask it, and after
waiting a while she withdrew her hand.

'Good-bye, monsieur.'

'Good-bye, mademoiselle.'