Mercourt, a young critic and friend of Laurent, entered the studio. "I know," he said, "that you are going to Montmorency. So I have simply looked in to ask you for an address, Mademoiselle Jacques's." Laurent started. "What the devil do you want of Mademoiselle Jacques?" he rejoined, pretending to be looking for cigarette-papers. "I? nothing--that is to say, yes, I would like to know her; but I know her only by sight and reputation. I want her address for a person who is anxious to be painted." "You know Mademoiselle Jacques by sight, you say?" "_Parbleu_! she is altogether famous now, and who has not noticed her? She is made to be noticed!" "You think so?" "To be sure, and you?" "I? I know nothing about it. I am very fond of her, so I am not a competent judge." "You are very fond of her?" "Yes, I admit it, you see; which proves that I am not paying court to her." "Do you see her often?" "Sometimes." "Then you are her friend--seriously?" "Well, yes, to some extent. Why do you laugh?" "Because I don't believe a word of it; at twenty-four, one is not the serious friend of a--young and beautiful woman!" "Bah! she is neither so young nor so beautiful as you say. She is a good comrade, not unpleasant to look at, that's all. But she belongs to a type that I don't like, and I am obliged to forgive her for being a blonde. I don't like blondes, except in painting." "She is not so very light after all! her eyes are of a soft black, her hair is neither light nor dark, and she arranges it in a peculiar way. However, it's becoming to her: she has the look of an amiable sphinx." "A very pretty comparison; but--you like tall women, it seems!" "She is not very tall, and she has small feet and small hands. She is a true woman. I have examined her very carefully, being in love with her." "I say, what are you thinking about?" "It makes no difference to you, since, viewed as a woman simply, she doesn't attract you." "My dear fellow, if she did attract me, it would be all the same. In that case, I should try to be on a more intimate footing with her than I am; but I should not be in love with her, that being a profession which I do not practise; consequently, I should not be jealous. So press your suit, if you think best." "I shall, if I find the opportunity; but I have no time to seek it, and, at heart, I am like you, Laurent, perfectly disposed to be patient, since I am of an age and a society in which there is no lack of pleasure. But, as we are speaking of that woman, and as you know her, tell me--it is pure curiosity on my part--whether she is a widow or----" "Or what?" "I meant to say whether she is the widow of a lover or a husband." "I have no idea." "That isn't possible." "On my word of honor, I never asked her. It makes no difference to me!" "Do you know what people say?" "No, I don't care at all. What is it that people say?" "You see that you do care! They say that she was married to a rich man with a title."