So Mademoiselle Derbin was determined to find out who I was, what my rank and position were in society. My silence had piqued her. But to go so far as to ask if I were married--that was decidedly peculiar. Pettermann believed me to be a bachelor; I had never said anything in his presence which would lead him to suppose that I had ceased to be one. What did it matter to that young woman whether I was married or not? Could it be that she had taken a fancy to me? I could not believe it; I had never said a word of love to her. So that it was probably the whim of a coquette who desired to subject everybody to her empire. She had known me only a fortnight. Moreover, it seemed to me that I was no longer likely to inspire love, that no one could ever love me again. I said all this to myself as I looked over my box of colors. But it did not prevent me from going to Mademoiselle Derbin, for she expected me; and even if I did attract her, that would be no reason for avoiding her. We must leave such noble acts to the patriarchs of Genesis, whom we are by no means tempted to imitate. They were waiting for me. The uncle was there; he congratulated me on my talent, and thanked me for my good-nature. Caroline was much perplexed as to the position she should take. I begged her to act as if I were not painting her portrait, so that there should be no affectation in the position, and I set to work. My model was very docile; she looked at me and smiled very affably. The uncle walked about the room, and soon said: “She will make a very pretty portrait, monsieur. I was painted once in the costume of Scapin. It was an artist of great talent--I have forgotten his name but it will come to me directly. It was at Bordeaux, at Madame la Comtesse de Vernac’s, who entertained the leading artists of Paris--Molé, Saint-Phal, Fleury, Dugazon. In fact, it was at her house that I met Dugazon. Oh! the rascal! as amusing in society as he was on the stage. You must have seen Dugazon?” “Yes, monsieur, I think so; but I was so young that I hardly remember. Mademoiselle, raise your head a little, if you please.” “To return to my portrait,--the artist considered me so amusing in _Les Fourberies de Scapin_, my face was so absurd when I came out of the bag--You know _Les Fourberies de Scapin_?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Oh! how can you keep asking monsieur such questions, uncle? Does he know Molière? You would do much better to see if the picture looks like me yet.”