“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, interrupting Mistigris. “I would rather have them in the salon; but perhaps I am indiscreet in asking it,” she replied, looking at Bridau coquettishly. “Beauty, madame, is a sovereign whom all painters worship; it has unlimited claims upon them.” “They are both charming,” thought Madame Moreau. “Do you enjoy driving? Shall I take you through the woods, after dinner, in my carriage?” “Oh! oh! oh!” cried Mistigris, in three ecstatic tones. “Why, Presles will prove our terrestrial paradise.” “With an Eve, a fair, young, fascinating woman,” added Bridau. Just as Madame Moreau was bridling, and soaring to the seventh heaven, she was recalled like a kite by a twitch at its line. “Madame!” cried her maid-servant, bursting into the room. “Rosalie,” said her mistress, “who allowed you to come here without being sent for?” Rosalie paid no heed to the rebuke, but whispered in her mistress’s ear:-- “The count is at the chateau.” “Has he asked for me?” said the steward’s wife. “No, madame; but he wants his trunk and the key of his apartment.” “Then give them to him,” she replied, making an impatient gesture to hide her real trouble. “Mamma! here’s Oscar Husson,” said her youngest son, bringing in Oscar, who turned as red as a poppy on seeing the two artists in evening dress. “Oh! so you have come, my little Oscar,” said Estelle, stiffly. “I hope you will now go and dress,” she added, after looking at him contemptuously from head to foot. “Your mother, I presume, has not accustomed you to dine in such clothes as those.” “Oh!” cried the cruel Mistigris, “a future diplomatist knows the saying that ‘two coats are better than none.’” “How do you mean, a future diplomatist?” exclaimed Madame Moreau. Poor Oscar had tears in his eyes as he looked in turn from Joseph to Leon. “Merely a joke made in travelling,” replied Joseph, who wanted to save Oscar’s feelings out of pity. “The boy just wanted to be funny like the rest of us, and he blagued, that’s all,” said Mistigris.