She looked at him again, gave a shrug and a smile, and then pointed to a small Italian picture, a Marriage of St. Catherine.  “How should you like that?” she asked.

“It doesn’t please me,” said Newman.  “The young lady in the yellow dress is not pretty.”

“Ah, you are a great connoisseur,” murmured Mademoiselle Noemie.

“In pictures?  Oh, no; I know very little about them.”

“In pretty women, then.”

“In that I am hardly better.”

“What do you say to that, then?” the young girl asked, indicating a superb Italian portrait of a lady.  “I will do it for you on a smaller scale.”

“On a smaller scale?  Why not as large as the original?”

Mademoiselle Noemie glanced at the glowing splendor of the Venetian masterpiece and gave a little toss of her head.  “I don’t like that woman.  She looks stupid.”

“I do like her,” said Newman.  “Decidedly, I must have her, as large as life.  And just as stupid as she is there.”

The young girl fixed her eyes on him again, and with her mocking smile, “It certainly ought to be easy for me to make her look stupid!” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked Newman, puzzled.

She gave another little shrug.  “Seriously, then, you want that portrait—­the golden hair, the purple satin, the pearl necklace, the two magnificent arms?”

“Everything—­just as it is.”

“Would nothing else do, instead?”

“Oh, I want some other things, but I want that too.”

Mademoiselle Noemie turned away a moment, walked to the other side of the hall, and stood there, looking vaguely about her.  At last she came back.  “It must be charming to be able to order pictures at such a rate.  Venetian portraits, as large as life!  You go at it en prince.  And you are going to travel about Europe that way?”

“Yes, I intend to travel,” said Newman.

“Ordering, buying, spending money?”

“Of course I shall spend some money.”

“You are very happy to have it.  And you are perfectly free?”

“How do you mean, free?”

“You have nothing to bother you—­no family, no wife, no fiancee?”

“Yes, I am tolerably free.”

“You are very happy,” said Mademoiselle Noemie, gravely.

“Je le veux bien!” said Newman, proving that he had learned more French than he admitted.

“And how long shall you stay in Paris?” the young girl went on.

“Only a few days more.”

“Why do you go away?”

“It is getting hot, and I must go to Switzerland.”

“To Switzerland?  That’s a fine country.  I would give my new parasol to see it!  Lakes and mountains, romantic valleys and icy peaks!  Oh, I congratulate you.  Meanwhile, I shall sit here through all the hot summer, daubing at your pictures.”

“Oh, take your time about it,” said Newman.  “Do them at your convenience.”