"The rustic advanced and looked at my work with stupid eyes,
which distinguished nothing, and did not even recognize whether
the picture was the representation of an ox or a house.

"Miss Harriet came into the house, and passed in rear of me just
at the moment when, holding out my canvas at arm's length, I was
exhibiting it to the female innkeeper. The 'demoniac' could not
help but see it, for I took care to exhibit the thing in such a
way that it could not escape her notice. She stopped abruptly and
stood motionless, stupefied. It was her rock which was depicted,
the one which she usually climbed to dream away her time
undisturbed.

"She uttered a British 'Oh,' which was at once so accentuated and
so flattering, that I turned round to her, smiling, and said:

"This is my last work, Mademoiselle.'

"She murmured ecstatically, comically, and tenderly:

" 'Oh! Monsieur, you must understand what it is to have a
palpitation.'

"I colored up, of course, and was more excited by that compliment
than if it had come from a queen. I was seduced, conquered,
vanquished. I could have embraced her--upon my honor.

"I took my seat at the table beside her, as I had always done.
For the first time, she spoke, drawling out in a loud voice: