supported them.

The Moreaus, who were very friendly with Grindot the architect, had
received notice from him of the early arrival of the two painters sent

down to finish the decorations of the chateau, the principalpaintings
for which were just completed by Schinner. The great painter had

recommended for this work the artist who was accompanied by Mistigris.
For two days past Madame Moreau had been on the tiptoe of expectation,

and had put herself under arms to receive him. An artist, who was to
be her guest and companion for weeks, demanded some effort. Schinner

and his wife had their own apartment at the chateau, where, by the
count's express orders, they were treated with all the consideration

due to himself. Grindot, who stayed at the steward's house, showed
such respect for the great artist that neither the steward nor his

wife had attempted to put themselves on familiar terms with him.
Moreover, the noblest and richest people in the surrounding country

had vied with each other in paying attention to Schinner and his wife.
So, very well pleased to have, as it were, a little revenge of her

own, Madame Moreau was determined to cry up the artist she was now
expecting, and to present him to her social circle as equal in talent

to the great Schinner.
Though for two days past Moreau's pretty wife had arrayed herself

coquettishly, the prettiest of her toilets had been reserved for this
very Saturday, when, as she felt no doubt, the artist would arrive for

dinner. A pink gown in very narrow stripes, a pink belt with a richly
chased gold buckle, a velvetribbon and cross at her throat, and

velvet bracelets on her bare arms (Madame de Serizy had handsome arms
and showed them much), together with bronze kid shoes and thread

stockings, gave Madame Moreau all the appearance of an elegant
Parisian. She wore, also, a superbbonnet of Leghorn straw, trimmed

with a bunch of moss roses from Nattier's, beneath the spreading sides
of which rippled the curls of her beautiful blond hair.

After ordering a very choice dinner and reviewing the condition of her
rooms, she walked about the grounds, so as to be seen standing near a

flower-bed in the court-yard of the chateau, like the mistress of the
house, on the arrival of the coach from Paris. She held above her head

a charming rose-colored parasol lined with white silk and fringed.
Seeing that Pierrotin merely left Mistigris's queer packages with the

concierge, having, apparently, brought no passengers, Estelle retired
disappointed and regretting the trouble of making her uselesstoilet.

Like many persons who are dressed in their best, she felt incapable of
any other occupation than that of sitting idly in her salon awaiting

the coach from Beaumont, which usually passed about an hour after that
of Pierrotin, though it did not leave Paris till mid-day. She was,

therefore, in her own apartment when the two artists walked up to the
chateau, and were sent by Moreau himself to their rooms where they

made their regulationtoilet for dinner. The pair had asked questions
of their guide, the gardener, who told them so much of Moreau's beauty

that they felt the necessity of "rigging themselves up" (studio
slang). They, therefore, put on their most superlative suits and then

walked over to the steward's lodge, piloted by Jacques Moreau, the
eldest son, a hardy youth, dressed like an English boy in a handsome

jacket with a turned-over collar, who was spending his vacation like a
fish in water on the estate where his father and mother reigned as

aristocrats.
"Mamma," he said, "here are the two artists sent down by Monsieur

Schinner."
Madame Moreau, agreeably surprised, rose, told her son to place

chairs, and began to display her graces.
"Mamma, the Husson boy is with papa," added the lad; "shall I fetch

him?"
"You need not hurry; go and play with him," said his mother.

The remark "you need not hurry" proved to the two artists the
unimportance of their late travelling companion in the eyes of their

hostess; but it also showed, what they did not know, the feeling of a
step-mother against a step-son. Madame Moreau, after seventeen years

of married life, could not be ignorant of the steward's attachment to
Madame Clapart and the little Husson, and she hated both mother and

child so vehemently that it is not surprising that Moreau had never
before risked bringing Oscar to Presles.

"We are requested, my husband and myself," she said to the two
artists, "to do you the honors of the chateau. We both love art, and,

above all, artists," she added in a mincing tone; "and I beg you to
make yourselves at home here. In the country, you know, every one

should be at their ease; one must feel wholly at liberty, or life is
TOO insipid. We have already had Monsieur Schinner with us."

Mistigris gave a sly glance at his companion.
"You know him, of course?" continued Estelle, after a slight pause.

"Who does not know him, madame?" said the painter.
"Knows him like his double," remarked Mistigris.

"Monsieur Grindot told me your name," said Madame Moreau to the
painter. "But--"

"Joseph Bridau," he replied, wondering with what sort of woman he had
to do.

Mistigris began to rebel internally against the patronizing manner of
the steward's wife; but he waited, like Bridau, for some word which

might give him his cue; one of those words "de singe a dauphin" which
artists, cruel, born-observers of the ridiculous--the pabulum of their

pencils--seize with such avidity. Meantime Estelle's clumsy hands and
feet struck their eyes, and presently a word, or phrase or two,

betrayed her past, and quite out of keeping with the elegance of her
dress, made the two young fellows aware of their prey. A single glance

at each other was enough to arrange a scheme that they should take
Estelle seriously on her own ground, and thus find amusement enough

during the time of their stay.
"You say you love art, madame; perhaps you cultivate it successfully,"

said Joseph Bridau.
"No. Without being neglected, my education was purelycommercial; but

I have so profound and delicate a sense of art that Monsieur Schinner
always asked me, when he had finished a piece of work, to give him my

opinion on it."
"Just as Moliere consulted La Foret," said Mistigris.

Not knowing that La Foret was Moliere's servant-woman, Madame Moreau
inclined her head graciously, showing that in her ignorance she

accepted the speech as a compliment.
"Didn't he propose to 'croquer' you?" asked Bridau. "Painters are

eager enough after handsome women."
"What may you mean by such language?"

"In the studios we say croquer, craunch, nibble, for sketching,"
interposed Mistigris, with an insinuating air, "and we are always

wanting to croquer beautiful heads. That's the origin of the
expression, 'She is pretty enough to eat.'"

"I was not aware of the origin of the term," she replied, with the
sweetest glance at Mistigris.

"My pupil here," said Bridau, "Monsieur Leon de Lora, shows a
remarkable talent for portraiture. He would be too happy, I know, to

leave you a souvenir of our stay by painting your charming head,
madame."

Joseph Bridau made a sign to Mistigris which meant: "Come, sail in,
and push the matter; she is not so bad in looks, this woman."

Accepting the glance, Leon de Lora slid down upon the sofa beside
Estelle and took her hand, which she permitted.

"Oh! madame, if you would like to offer a surprise to your husband,
and will give me a few secret sittings I would endeavor to surpass

myself. You are so beautiful, so fresh, so charming! A man without any
talent might become a genius in painting you. He would draw from your

eyes--"
"We must paint your dear children in the arabesques," said Bridau,