Leon.—­Permit me, madam—­

Jadwiga (interrupting).—­Pray, not a word about the past. (She laughs.) Ah, my woman’s diplomacy knows how to tie a knot and draw tight the ends of it.  How your embarrassment pleases me.  But there is something quite different.  Let us suppose that I am a vain person, full of womanly self-love; full of petty jealousy and envy.  Well, you have painted the portrait of Mme. Zofia and of Helena.  I wish to have mine also.  One does not refuse the women such things.  Reports of your fame come to me from all sides.  I hear all around me the words:  “Our great painter—­our master!” Society lionizes you.  God knows how many breasts sigh for you.  Every one can have your works, every one can approach you, see you, be proud of you.  I alone, your playmate, your old friend, I alone am as though excommunicated.

Leon.—­But Mme. Jadwiga—­

Jadwiga.—­Ah, you have called me by my name.  I thank you and beg your pardon.  It is the self-love of a woman, nothing more.  It is my nerves.  Do not be frightened.  You see how dangerous it is to irritate me.  After one of my moods I am unbearable.  I will give you three days to think the matter over.  If you do not wish to come, write me then (she laughs sadly).  Only I warn you, that if you will neither come nor write me, I will tell every one that you are afraid of me, and so I will satisfy my self-love.  In the mean time, for the sake of my nerves, you must not tell, me that you refuse my request.  I am a little bit ill—­consequently capricious.

Leon.—­In three days you shall have my answer (rising), and now I will say good-bye.

Jadwiga.—­Wait a moment.  This is not so easy as you think.  Truly, I would think you are afraid of me.  It is true that they say I am a coquette, a flirt.  I know they talk very badly about me.  Besides we are good acquaintances, who have not seen each other for two years.  Let us then talk a little.  Let me take your hat.  Yes, that is it!  Now let us talk.  I am sure we may become friends again.  As for me at least—­what do you intend to do in the future besides painting my portrait?

Leon.—­The conversation about me would not last long.  Let us take another more interesting subject.  You had better talk about yourself—­about your life, your family.

Jadwiga.—­As for my husband, he is, as usual, in Chantilly.  My mother is dead!  Poor mama!  She was so fond of you—­she loved you very much (after a pause).  In fact, as you see, I have grown old and changed greatly.

Leon.—­At your age the words “I have grown old” are only a daring challenge thrown by a woman who is not afraid that she would be believed.

Jadwiga.—­I am twenty-three years old, so I am not talking about age in years, but age in morals.  I feel that to-day I am not like that Jadwiga of Kalinowice whom you used to know so well.  Good gracious! when I think to-day of that confidence and faith in life—­those girlish illusions—­the illusions of a young person who wished to be happy and make others happy, that enthusiasm for everything good and noble! where has all that gone—­where has it disappeared?  And to think that I was—­well, an honest wild-flower—­and to-day—­