as if on eggs. She hastily withdrew outside the door and coughed.
Ginevra quivered, turned her head, saw her enemy, blushed, hastened to
alter the shade to give meaning to her position, and came down from
her perch leisurely. She soon after left the studio, bearing with her,
in her memory, the image of a man's head, as beauteous as that of the
Endymion, a masterpiece of Girodet's which she had lately copied.

"To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney--"

These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that
Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in
spite of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle
Thirion already there, having come in a carriage.

Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they
made their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of
the mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the
Imperial eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them
through the crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures.
Suddenly Servin came in, much earlier than usual.

"Mademoiselle Ginevra," he said, after glancing round the studio, "why
have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the
rest of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little."

Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial
attention.

"Well, well!" he cried; "here, indeed, is a head extremely well done.
You'll be another Ginevra."