These portraits, as we have already remarked, are those of a very pretty woman; but it should be added that the pen-portraits which some of her contemporaries have left of Sophie are not altogether in accord with the crayon of La Tour or the brush of Greuze--nor yet with the description which the lady gives us of her own charms[12]--and we are, therefore, inclined to think that both artists have rather idealised their subject, a practice not uncommon with portrait-painters in the eighteenth century or, for that matter, in much later times. Collé and Grimm, it is true, both speak of Sophie as beautiful, though without condescending to particulars; but, on the other hand, Madame Vigée Lebrun asserts that the beauty of her face was spoiled by her mouth, while one of the inspectors of the Lieutenant of Police describes her skin as “black and dry.” That curious work _L’Espion anglais_ confirms the artist and the inspector: “To tell the truth, there is nothing remarkable about her; her face is long and thin; she has a villainously ugly mouth, prominent teeth, standing out from the gums, and a black and greasy skin.” The writer adds, however, that she possessed “two fine eyes,” a feature which also impressed Madame Lebrun, who says that they gave their owner “a piquant look,” and were “indicative of the wit which had made her celebrated.” But two fine eyes, as one of her biographers very justly observes, count for much, especially when animated by the intelligence, the feeling, and the passion which belonged to Sophie; and no sooner did she appear upon the stage than a host of _soupirants_ gathered about her. For some months, however, they sighed in vain. The guardian of the Golden Fleece was not more vigilant or more awe-inspiring than Madame Arnould. Every evening she escorted her daughter to the theatre, remained in her dressing-room while the mysteries of her toilette were being performed, accompanied her to the corner of the stage, and then waited in the wings until the young actress made her exit, when she again took charge of her. She seemed to have as many eyes as Argus himself. If an admirer bolder than the rest ventured to approach Sophie, before he had uttered half a dozen words down would swoop the watchful mother, with a freezing: “_Allons! laissez la petite en repos, s’il vous plait, Monsieur!_” before which the luckless gallant fled incontinently. If a _poulet_ were despatched, it was invariably intercepted and returned to the sender, with a message which made him feel supremely foolish. “She is not a woman at all,” exclaimed the indignant Duc de Fronsac, after one of these rebuffs; “she is a veritable watch-dog!” But even the most intelligent of watch-dogs cannot always discriminate between friend and foe. The danger came from a quarter whence the poor mother least expected it. She herself admitted the wolf into the sheepfold.