This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By FRANCOIS COPPEE
It had been more than three months since Maria and Maurice had met again.One day the young man went to the Louvre to see his favorite pictures ofthe painters of the Eighteenth Century. His attention was attracted bythe beautiful hair of a young artist dressed in black, who was copyingone of Rosalba's portraits. It was our pretty pastel artist whosewonderful locks disturbed all the daubers in the museum, and which madecolorists out of Signol's pupils themselves. Maurice approached thecopyist, and then both exclaimed at once:
"Mademoiselle Maria!"
"Monsieur Maurice!"
She had recognized him so quickly and with such a charming smile, she hadnot, then, forgotten him? When he used to visit Pere Gerard he hadnoticed that she was not displeased with him; but after such a long time,at first sight, to obtain such a greeting, such a delighted exclamation—it was flattering!
The young man standing by her easel, with his hat off, so graceful andelegant in his well-cut garments, began to talk with her. He spokefirst, in becoming and proper terms, of her father's death; inquired forher mother and sister, congratulated himself upon having been recognizedthus, and then yielding to his bold custom, he added:
"As to myself, I hesitated at first. You have grown still more beautifulin two years."
As she blushed, he continued, in a joking way, which excused hisaudacity:
"Amedee told me that you had become delicious, but now I hardly dare askhim for news of you. Ever since you have lived at Montmartre—and I knowthat he sees you every Sunday—he has never offered to take me with himto pay my respects. Upon my word of honor, Mademoiselle Maria, I believethat he is in love with you and as jealous as a Turk."
She protested against it, confused but still smiling.
Ah! if he had known of the dream that Maria had kept concealed in onecorner of her heart ever since their first meeting. If he had known thather only desire was to be chosen and loved by this handsome Maurice, whohad gone through their house and among poor Papa Gerard's bric-a-braclike a meteor! Why not, after all? Did she not possess that greatpower, beauty? Her father, her mother, and even her sister, the wiseLouise, had often said so to her. Yes! from the very first she had beencharmed by this young man with the golden moustache, and the ways of ayoung lord; she had hoped to please him, and later, in spite of povertyand death, she had continued to be intoxicated with this folly and todream of this narcotic against grief, of the return of this PrinceCharming. Poor Maria, so good and so artless, who had been told too manytimes that she was pretty! Poor little spoiled child!
When he left you yesterday, little Maria, after half an hour's pleasingconversation, Maurice said to you jokingly: "Do not tell Violette, aboveall, that we have met. I should lose my best friend." You not only saidnothing to Amedee, but you told neither your mother nor your sister. ForLouise and Madame Gerard are prudent and wise, and they would tell you toavoid this rash fellow who has accosted you in a public place, and has