Barbarina gave no reply, and became deadly pale, as she walked through the king’s rooms; her steps were uncertain and faltering, and she was forced to lean upon Pesne’s arm; she declared that her foot was painful, and he perhaps believed her.

They reached at last the room in which the portrait was placed.  There were two doors to this room:  the one through which they had entered, and another which led to the study of the king.  This door was closed, and Barbarina found herself alone with the painter.

“The king has yet some audiences to give; he commanded me to commence my work.  As soon as he is at liberty, he will join us.”

“Let us begin, then,” said Barbarina, seating herself.  “You must allow me to-day to be seated.  I think it can make no difference to you, as you are at present occupied with my face and not with my figure.”

Pesne declared, however, that this attitude gave an entirely different expression and bearing to the countenance.  Barbarina must, therefore, in spite of the pain in her foot, endeavor to stand.  She appeared now to feel no pain; she smiled so happily, she spoke so joyously, that Pesne, while gazing at her animated, enchanting, lovely face, forgot that he was there to paint, and not to wonder.  Suddenly her smile vanished, and she interrupted herself in the midst of a gay remark.  She had heard the door behind her lightly opened; she knew, by the stormy beating of her heart, that she was no longer alone with the painter; she had not the courage or strength to turn; she was silent, immovable, and stared straight at Pesne, who painted on quietly.  The king had motioned him not to betray him.

Pesne painted on, from time to time asked Barbarina the most innocent and simple questions, which she answered confusedly.  Perhaps she was mistaken; possibly she was still alone with the painter.  But no, that was impossible, it seemed to her that a stream of heavenly light irradiated the room; she did not see the king, but she felt his glance; she felt that he was behind her, that he was watching her, although no movement, no word of his betrayed him.

“I will not move, I will not turn, but I cannot endure this, I shall fall dead to the earth.”

But now she was forced to turn; the king called her name, and greeted her with a few friendly words.  She bowed and looked up timidly.  How cold, indifferent, and devoid of interest was his glance, and he had not seen her for weeks, and she had been ill and suffering!  And now, she felt again that she hated him bitterly, and that it was the power of this passion which overcame her when she saw the king so unexpectedly.  She felt, however, that every tone of his voice was like heavenly music to her ear, that every word he uttered moved her heart as the soft wind ruffles the sea.

The king spoke of her portrait; he said he had made it his study and sought for its faults and defects, as others sought for its advantages and beauties.