Part 80 (1/2)
”Some day, mademoiselle, I will tell you,--not now. I beg you to excuse me just now.”
”Certainly, monsieur; but, pardon me, she must be ill,--and her face is heavenly!”
”Is it?” asked Jean. ”I had not noticed. Perhaps because one heavenly face is all I can see at the same time.”
”Ah, monsieur!”
She tried to hide her confusion in a sip of champagne.
M. Marot and Lerouge became suddenly interested in a sketch upon the wall and rose, puffing their cigars, to make a closer and more leisurely examination.
Jean's hand somehow came in contact with Andree's,--does any one know how these things come about?--and the girl's cheeks grew more rosy than usual. She straightway forgot Mlle. Fouchette. Her eyes were lowered and she gently removed her hand from the table.
”Here is the true model for an artist,” said he.
”But I never sat,” she declared.
”Oh, don't be too sure.”
”Never; wouldn't I remember it?”
”Perhaps not. One doesn't always remember everything.”
She blushed through her smile. She had unconsciously yielded her hand again.
They talked airy nothings that conceal the thoughts. Then, in a few minutes, she discovered that his hand again covered hers and was innocently caressing it. She drew it away in alarm.
”Do not take it away! Are we not cousins, mademoiselle?”
”Oh, yes; funny, isn't it? Long-lost cousins!” She laughed merrily.
”And now that we are found----”
”It seems to me as if I had known you a long time,” she continued,--”for years and years! Or, perhaps it is because--because----”
”Come! let me show you something,” he interrupted, still retaining the hand, ”some poor sketches of mine.”
He led her to the portfolio-stand in the corner and seated himself at her feet.
The elder connoisseurs, meanwhile, had taken the sketch in which they were interested from its place on the wall to the better light at the table.
”'La Pet.i.te Chatte.'”
”An expressive t.i.tle, truly.”
”Why, its Mademoiselle Fouchette!” exclaimed M. Marot, holding the picture off at arm's length.
”It is, indeed! And the real Fouchette as I last beheld her at the notorious Cafe Barrate. It's the 'Savatiere'! That solves a mystery.”
Lerouge thereupon took M. Marot by the arm, replaced the picture on the wall, and led the old gentleman to the corner farthest from that occupied by the younger couple, and there the two conversed over their cigars in a low tone for a long time.