“I have seen the famous portrait: a miniature of the newly created baron, in fresh butter, I think, done cheap by some poor girl who gains her living by coloring photographs. It is intended for Mademoiselle Tigra of the Bouffes. A delicate attention from Dufilleul, isn’t it? While Jeanne in her innocence is dreaming of the words of love he has ventured to utter to her, and cherishes but one thought, one image in her heart, he is exerting his ingenuity to perpetuate the recollection of that image’s adventures elsewhere. “He is pleased with the elaborate and costly frame which Plumet has made for him. “‘Very nice. How much?’ “‘One hundred and twenty francs.’ “‘Six louis? very dear.’ “‘That’s my price for this kind of work, my lord; I am very busy just now, my lord.’ “‘Well, let it be this once. I don’t often have a picture framed; to tell the truth, I don’t care for pictures.’ “Dufilleul admires and looks at himself in the vile portrait which he holds outstretched in his right hand, while his left hand feels in his purse. Monsieur Plumet looks very stiff, very unhappy, and very nervous. He evidently wants to get his customer off the premises. “The rustling of skirts is heard on the staircase. Plumet turns pale, and glancing at the half-opened door, through which the terrier is pushing its nose, steps forward to close it. It is too late. “Some one has noiselessly opened it, and on the threshold stands Mademoiselle Jeanne in walking-dress, looking, with bright eyes and her most charming smile, at Plumet, who steps back in a fright, and Dufilleul, who has not yet seen her. “‘Well, sir, and so I’ve caught you!’ “Dufilleul starts, and involuntarily clutches the portrait to his waistcoat. “‘Mademoiselle--No, really, you have come--?’ “‘To see Madame Plumet. What wrong is there in that?’ “‘None whatever--of course not.’ “‘Not the least in the world, eh? Ha, ha! What a trifle flurries you. Come now, collect yourself. There is nothing to be frightened at. As I was coming upstairs, your dog put his muzzle out; I guessed he was not alone, so I left my maid with Madame Plumet, and came in at the right-hand door instead of the left. Do you think it improper?’ “‘Oh, no, Mademoiselle.’ “‘However, I am inquisitive, and I should like to see what you are hiding there.’ “‘It’s a portrait.’ “‘Hand it to me.’ “‘With pleasure; unfortunately it’s only a portrait of myself.’ “‘Why unfortunately? On the contrary, it flatters you--the nose is not so long as the original; what do you say, Monsieur Plumet?’ “‘Do you think it good?’ “‘Very.’ “‘How do you like the frame?’ “‘It’s very pretty.’ “‘Then I make you a present of it, Mademoiselle.’ “‘Why! wasn’t it intended for me?’