"I will try to reconstruct the scene for you, from the details which
I have gathered.

"The time is a quarter to ten in the morning. There is a knock at
Monsieur Plumet's door. The door opposite is opened half-way and
Madame Plumet looks out. She withdraws in a hurry, 'with her heart
in her mouth,' as she says; the plot she has formed is about to
succeed or fail, the critical moment is at hand; the visitor is her
enemy, your rival Dufilleul.

"He is full of self-confidence and comes in plump and flourishing,
with light gloves, and a terrier at his heels.

"'My portrait framed, Plumet?'

"'Yes, my lord-yes, to be sure.'

"'Let's see it.'

"I have seen the famous portrait: a miniature of the newly created
baron, in fresh butter, I think, done cheap by some poor girl who
gains her living by coloring photographs. It is intended for
Mademoiselle Tigra of the Bouffes. A delicate attention from
Dufilleul, isn't it? While Jeanne in her innocence is dreaming of
the words of love he has ventured to utter to her, and cherishes but
one thought, one image in her heart, he is exerting his ingenuity to
perpetuate the recollection of that image's adventures elsewhere.

"He is pleased with the elaborate and costly frame which Plumet has
made for him.