I was given several random introductions, and did my best to follow
Afra's directions; but there was an indescribable quaintness about the
appearance and manners of my new acquaintance that made it difficult
not to stare. I found, however, that little notice was taken of me,
as a lively discussion was being carried on over a study of an arm and
hand which one of them was holding up for inspection.

"It is a style I should call the lantern," said she. "The redness of
the flesh can only be accounted for on the supposition that a light is
shining through it."

"I should call it raw beef," remarked another.

"It is a shame, mademoiselle!" began the model in an injured tone.
She had been tying on her bonnet before a bit of looking-glass she
had taken from her pocket. "Does my arm look like that?" Here she
indignantly drew up her sleeve and held out that dimpled member,
meanwhile gazing wrathfully at the sketch. "It ought not to be
allowed. The silver tones of my flesh are entirely lost; and see how
you have caricatured the elegance of my beautiful hand. Will not some
one help mademoiselle to put it right before my reputation is ruined?"

"Jeanne, a model is not a critic," said the author of the drawing,
coming forward and grasping the canvas with no gentle hand.--"Ladies,
if you wish to find fault, turn to your own studies. That proportion
is frightful"--she pointed to different sketches as she spoke--"that
ear is too large; and, madame, if you take a crust of paint like yours
for freedom of touch, I pity you."

This dispute was by no means the last during the evening. Opinions