fleeting expression, to seize and reproduce that which is in a woman's
face beyond its more outward appearance; that emanation of ideal beauty,
that reflection of something indescribable, that personal and intimate
charm peculiar to each, which causes her to be loved to distraction by
one and not by another.

One afternoon the little girl advanced, and, planting herself before the
canvas, inquired with childish gravity:

"That is mamma, isn't it?"

The artist took her in his arms to kiss her, flattered by that naïve
homage to the resemblance of his work.

Another day, when she had been very quiet, they suddenly heard her say,
in a sad little voice:

"Mamma, I am so tired of this!"

The painter was so touched by this first complaint that he ordered a
shopful of toys to be brought to the studio the following day.

Little Annette, astonished, pleased, and always thoughtful, put them in
order with great care, that she might play with them one after another,
according to the desire of the moment. From the date of this gift,
she loved the painter as little children love, with that caressing,
animal-like affection which makes them so sweet and captivating.

Madame de Guilleroy began to take pleasure in the sittings. She was
almost without amusement or occupation that winter, as she was in