“Good heavens!” thought Marien, “if she is adding a quick wit to her other charms--that will put the finishing stroke to me.” When the portrait was sufficiently advanced, M. de Nailles came to the studio to judge of the likeness. He was delighted: “Only, my friend, I think,” he cried to Marien, endeavoring to soften his one objection to the picture, “that you have given her a look--how can I put it?--an expression very charming no doubt, but which is not that of a child of her age. You know what I mean. It is something tender--intense--profound, too feminine. It may come to her some day, perhaps--but hitherto Jacqueline’s expression has been generally that of a merry, mischievous child.” “Oh, papa!” cried the young girl, stung by the insult. “You may possibly be right,” Marien hastened to reply, “it was probably the fatigue of posing that gave her that expression.” “Oh!” repeated Jacqueline, more shocked than ever. “I can alter it,” said the painter, much amused by her extreme despair. But Marien thought that Jacqueline had not in the least that precocious air which her father attributed to her, when standing before him she gave herself up to thoughts the current of which he followed easily, watching on her candid face its changes of expression. How could he have painted her other than she appeared to him? Was what he saw an apparition--or was it a work of magic? Several times during the sittings M. de Nailles made his appearance in the studio, and after greatly praising the work, persisted in his objection that it made Jacqueline too old. But since the painter saw her thus they must accept his judgment. It was no doubt an effect of the grown-up costume that she had had a fancy to put on. “After all,” he said to Jacqueline, “it is of not much consequence; you will grow up to it some of these days. And I pay you my compliments in advance on your appearance in the future.” She felt like choking with rage. “Oh! is it right,” she thought, “for parents to persist in keeping a young girl forever in her cradle, so to speak?” CHAPTER IV. A DANGEROUS MODEL Time passed too quickly to please Jacqueline. Her portrait was finished at last, notwithstanding the willingness Marien had shown--or so it seemed to her--to retouch it unnecessarily that she might again and again come back to his atelier. But it was done at last. She glided into that dear atelier for the last time, her heart big with regret, with no hope that she would ever again put on the fairy robe which had, she thought, transfigured her till she was no longer little Jacqueline.