At the moment Florent entered the studio that work so completely absorbed
the attention of the painter that he did not hear the door open any more
than did Madame Steno, who was smoking cigarettes, reclining indolently
and blissfully upon the divan, her half-closed eyes fixed upon the man
she loved. Lincoln only divined another presence by a change in Alba's
face. God! How pale she was, seated in the immobility of her pose in a
large, heraldic armchair, with a back of carved wood, her hands grasping
the arms, her mouth so bitter, her eyes so deep in their fixed glance!...
Did she divine that which she could not, however, know, that her fate was
approaching with the visitor who entered, and who, having left the studio
fifteen minutes before, had to justify his return by an excuse.

"It is I," said he. "I forgot to ask you, Lincoln, if you wish to buy
Ardea's three drawings at the price they offer."

"Why did you not tell me of it yesterday, my little Linco?" interrupted
the Countess. "I saw Peppino again this morning.... I would have from
him his lowest figure."

"That would only be lacking," replied Maitland, laughing his large laugh.
"He does not acknowledge those drawings, dear dogaresse.... They are a
part of the series of trinkets he carefully subtracted from his
creditor's inventory and put in different places. There are some at
seven or eight antiquaries', and we may expect that for the next ten
years all the cockneys of my country will be allured by this phrase,
'This is from the Palais Castagna. I have it by a little arrangement.'"

His eyes sparkled as he imitated one of the most celebrated bric-a-brac
dealers in Rome, with the incomparable art of imitation which
distinguishes all the old habitues of Parisian studios.