Coquelin turned pale. Mlle. de Bergerac looked at him, and turned the least bit red. As for the Vicomte, he never changed color. There was no eluding the fact that it was a likeness, and Coquelin had to pay the penalty of his skill. "I didn't know," he said, at random, "that it was in that portfolio. Do you recognize it, mademoiselle?" "Ah," said the Vicomte, dryly, "M. Coquelin meant to hide it." "It's too pretty to hide," said my aunt; "and yet it's too pretty to show. It's flattered." "Why should I have flattered you, mademoiselle?" asked Coquelin. "You were never to see it." "That's what it is, mademoiselle," said the Vicomte, "to have such dazzling beauty. It penetrates the world. Who knows where you'll find it reflected next?" However pretty a compliment this may have been to Mlle. de Bergerac, it was decidedly a back-handed blow to Coquelin. The young girl perceived that he felt it. She rose to her feet. "My beauty," she said, with a slight tremor in her voice, "would be a small thing without M. Coquelin's talent. We are much obliged to you. I hope that you'll bring your pictures to the château, so that we may look at the rest." "Are you going to leave him this?" asked M. de Treuil, holding up the portrait. "If M. Coquelin will give it to me, I shall be very glad to have it." "One doesn't keep one's own portrait," said the Vicomte. "It ought to belong to me." In those days, before the invention of our sublime machinery for the reproduction of the human face, a young fellow was very glad to have his mistress's likeness in pen and ink. But Coquelin had no idea of contributing to the Vicomte's gallery. "Excuse me," he said, gently, but looking the nobleman in the face. "The picture isn't good enough for Mlle. de Bergerac, but it's too good for any one else"; and he drew it out of the other's hands, tore it across, and applied it to the flame of the lamp. We went back to the château in silence. The drawing-room was empty; but as we went in, the Vicomte took a lighted candle from a table and raised it to the young girl's face. "_Parbleu!_" he exclaimed, "the vagabond had looked at you to good purpose!" Mlle. de Bergerac gave a half-confused laugh. "At any rate," she said, "he didn't hold a candle to me as if I were my old smoke-stained grandame, yonder!" and she blew out the light. "I'll call my brother," she said, preparing to retire. "A moment," said her lover; "I shall not see you for some weeks. I shall start to-morrow with my uncle. I shall think of you by day, and dream of you by night. And meanwhile I shall very much doubt whether you think of me." Mlle. de Bergerac smiled. "Doubt, doubt. It will help you to pass the time. With faith alone it would hang very heavy." "It seems hard," pursued M. de Treuil, "that I should give you so many pledges, and that you should give me none." "I give all I ask." "Then, for Heaven's sake, ask for something!" "Your kind words are all I want."