“Que faites vous ici?” said a voice.

“Mais, monsieur, je m’amuse.”

“Vous vous amusez! et à quoi, s’il vous plait? Mais d’abord, faites-moi le plaisir de vous lever; prenez mon bras, et allons de l’autre côté.”

I did precisely as I was bid. M. Paul Emanuel (it was he), returned from Rome, and now a travelled man, was not likely to be less tolerant of insubordination now than before this added distinction laurelled his temples.

“Permit me to conduct you to your party,” said he, as we crossed the room.

“I have no party.’

“You are not alone?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Did you come here unaccompanied?”

“No, monsieur. Dr. Bretton brought me here.”

“Dr. Bretton and madame his mother, of course?”

“No; only Dr. Bretton.”

“And he told you to look at that picture?”

“By no means; I found it out for myself.”

M. Paul’s hair was shorn close as raven down, or I think it would have bristled on his head. Beginning now to perceive his drift, I had a certain pleasure in keeping cool and working him up.

“Astounding insular audacity!” cried the professor. “Singulières femmes que ces Anglaises!”

“What is the matter, monsieur?”

“Matter! How dare you, a young person, sit coolly down, with the self-possession of a garçon, and look at that picture?”

“It is a very ugly picture, but I cannot at all see why I should not look at it.”

“Bon! bon! Speak no more of it. But you ought not to be here alone.”

“If, however, I have no society—no party, as you say? And then, what does it signify whether I am alone or accompanied? Nobody meddles with me.”

“Taisez-vous, et asseyez-vous là—là!” setting down a chair with emphasis in a particularly dull corner, before a series of most specially dreary cadres.

“Mais, monsieur.”

“Mais, mademoiselle, asseyez vous, et ne bougez pas—entendez—vous? jusqu’à ce qu’on vienne vous chercher, ou que je vous donne la permission.”

“Quel triste coin!” cried I, “et quels laids tableaux!”