She appeared to be about twenty-five: she was not tall, and her face was rather pleasing than handsome; yet her whole appearance indicated cultivation and amiability. Her dress was simple, but exquisitely neat; her gown of brown stuff fitted well to her graceful figure; her linen cuffs and collar were of a snowy whiteness; her hair was parted in front, and fastened up behind _a l'antique_: but she wore no ribbon, no ornament--nothing but what was necessary. The furniture of the room, which served at the same time as a sitting-room and studio, was equally simple: a little divan, some chairs and two arm-chairs covered with gray cloth, a round table, a black marble time-piece of the simplest form; two engravings, the 'Spasimo di Sicilia' and the 'Three Maries,' alone ornamented the walls; green blinds were placed over the windows, not for ornament, but to moderate the light, according to the desire of the artist; finally, three easels, on which rested some unfinished portraits, and a large painting representing Anna Boleyn embracing her daughter before going to execution. When he entered, little Jules went first to embrace his sister; she tenderly returned his caresses, then said to him in a gentle voice, as she returned to her easel: 'Now, my dear child, let me go on with my painting;' not, however, without addressing a friendly 'Good-morning' to Henry, who she thought had come to play with Jules. Henry had been looking at the unfinished pictures with a sort of terror, because they appeared to him as obstacles between him and his request. He dared not speak, fearing to hear again the terrible word 'impossible!' and he was going away, when Jules took him by the hand and drew him towards Emily. 'Sister,' he said, 'I have brought my friend Henry to see you; he wishes to ask you something; do speak to him.' 'Jules,' she replied, 'let me paint; you know I have very little time. You are playing the spoiled child: you abuse my indulgence.' 'Indeed, Emily, I am not jesting; you must really speak to Henry. If you knew how unhappy he is!' Mlle d'Orbe, raising her eyes to the boy, was struck with his pale and anxious face, and said to him in a kind voice, as she continued her painting: 'Forgive my rudeness, my little friend; this picture is to be sent to the Exposition, and I have not a moment to lose, because, both for my brother's sake and my own, I wish it to do me credit. But speak, my child; speak without fear, and be assured that I will not refuse you anything that is in the power of a poor artist.' Henry, regaining a little courage, told her what he desired: then Jules having related his friend's visit to their master, Henry added: 'But I see very well, mademoiselle, that you cannot do this portrait either, and I am sorry to have disturbed you.'