uncle," said the painter gayly; "but better late than never."

"You are very welcome, my friend," said the old man, looking at his
nephew in a dull way.

"Madame," Joseph said to Flore with an artist's vivacity, "this
morning I was envying my uncle the pleasure he enjoys in being able to
admire you every day."

"Isn't she beautiful?" said the old man, whose dim eyes began to
shine.

"Beautiful enough to be the model of a great painter."

"Nephew," said Rouget, whose elbow Flore was nudging, "this is
Monsieur Maxence Gilet; a man who served the Emperor, like your
brother, in the Imperial Guard."

Joseph rose, and bowed.

"Your brother was in the dragoons, I believe," said Maxence. "I was
only a dust-trotter."

"On foot or on horseback," said Flore, "you both of you risked your
skins."

Joseph took note of Max quite as much as Max took note of Joseph. Max,
who got his clothes from Paris, was dressed as the young dandies of
that day dressed themselves. A pair of light-blue cloth trousers, made
with very full plaits, covered his feet so that only the toes and the