“Is the country pretty at Juvisy, Mademoiselle?” I asked, by way of keeping up the conversation.

“Oh, M’sieur, it is a real paradise.  There are trees and fields, and there is the Seine close by, and a chateau, and a park, and a church on a hill, ... ma foi! there is nothing in Paris half so pretty; not even the Jardin des Plantes!”

“And have you been there lately?”

“Not for eight weeks, at the very least, M’sieur.  But then it costs three francs and a half for the return ticket, and since I quarrelled with Emile....”

“Emile!” said I, quickly.  “Who is he?”

“He is a picture-frame maker, M’sieur, and works for a great dealer in the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre.  He was my sweetheart, and he took me out somewhere every Sunday, till we quarrelled.”

“And what did you quarrel about, Mademoiselle?”

My pretty partner laughed and tossed her head.

“Eh, mon Dieu! he was jealous.”

“Jealous of whom?”

“Of a gentleman—­an artist—­who wanted to paint me in one of his pictures.  Emile did not like me to go to his atelier so often; and the gentleman gave me a shawl (such a pretty shawl!) and a canary in a lovely green and gold cage; and....”

“And Emile objected ?”

“Yes, M’sieur.”

“How very unreasonable!”

“That’s just what I said, M’sieur.”

“And have you never seen him since!”

“Oh, yes—­he keeps company now with my cousin Cecile, and she humors him in everything,”

“And the artist—­what of him, Mademoiselle?”

“Oh, I sat to him every day, till his picture was finished. Il etait bien gentil.  He took me to the theatre several times, and once to a fete at Versailles; but that was after Emile and I had broken it off.”

“Did you find it tiresome, sitting as a model?”

“Mais, comme ci, et comme ca!  It was a beautiful dress, and became me wonderfully.  To be sure, it was rather cold!”

“May I ask what character you were supposed to represent, Mademoiselle?”

“He said it was Phryne.  I have no idea who she was; but I think she must have found it very uncomfortable if she always wore sandals, and went without stockings.”

I looked down at her little foot, and thought how pretty it must have looked in the Greek sandal.  I pictured her to myself in the graceful Greek robe, with a chalice in her hand and her temples crowned with flowers.  What a delicious Phryne!  And what a happy fellow Praxiteles must have been!

“It was a privilege, Mademoiselle, to be allowed to see you in so charming a costume,” I said, pressing her hand tenderly.  “I envy that artist from the bottom of my heart.”

Mademoiselle Josephine smiled, and returned the pressure.

“One might borrow it,” said she, “for the Bal de l’Opera.”

“Ah, Mademoiselle, if I dared only aspire to the honor of conducting you!”