"Madame," he said, "in a very short time the colors of that
pastel will have disappeared. The portrait will only survive in
your memory. Where you will still see the face that is dear to
you, others will see nothing at all. Will you allow me to
reproduce the likeness on canvas? It will be more permanently
recorded then than on that sheet of paper. Grant me, I beg, as a
neighborly favor, the pleasure of doing you this service. There
are times when an artist is glad of a respite from his greater
undertakings by doing work of less lofty pretensions, so it will
be a recreation for me to paint that head."

The old lady flushed as she heard the painter's words, and
Adelaide shot one of those glances of deep feeling which seem to
flash from the soul. Hippolyte wanted to feel some tie linking
him with his two neighbors, to conquer a right to mingle in their
life. His offer, appealing as it did to the liveliest affections
of the heart, was the only one he could possibly make; it
gratified his pride as an artist, and could not hurt the feelings
of the ladies. Madame Leseigneur accepted, without eagerness or
reluctance, but with the self-possession of a noble soul, fully
aware of the character of bonds formed by such an obligation,
while, at the same time, they are its highest glory as a proof of
esteem.

"I fancy," said the painter, "that the uniform is that of a naval
officer."

"Yes," she said, "that of a captain in command of a vessel.
Monsieur de Rouville--my husband--died at Batavia in consequence