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At this, without answering me, he went sharply into the studio, and made a sign to that horror of a woman, who dressed herself and departed.

For several days, Etienne did not return to the studio. He remained at home with me, would not go out, refused even to see his friends; otherwise he was quite kind and gentle, but he had such a melancholy air. Once I asked him timidly: “You are not working any more?” which earned me this reply: “One can’t work without a model.” I had not the courage to pursue the subject, for I felt how much I was to blame, and that he had a right to be vexed with me. Nevertheless, by dint of caresses and endearments, I cajoled him into returning to his studio and trying to finish the statue–how do they say it? out of his head, from imagination, in short, by mama’s process. To me, this seemed quite feasible; but it gave the poor fellow endless trouble. Every evening he came in, with irritated nerves and more and more discouraged; almost ill, indeed. To cheer him up, I used often to go and see him. I always said: “It is charming.” But, as a fact, the statue made no progress whatever. I don’t even know if he worked at it. When I arrived, I would find him always smoking on his divan, or perhaps, rolling up pellets of clay, which he angrily threw against the opposite wall.

One afternoon, when I was gazing at the unfortunate Roman lady, who, half modelled, had been so long in stepping out of her bath, an idea occurred to me. The Roman lady was about the same figure as myself; perhaps at a pinch I might—-

“What do you mean by a well-turned leg?” I asked my husband suddenly.

He explained it to me at great length, showing me all that was still lacking to his statue, and which he could by no means give it without a model. Poor fellow! He had such a heart-broken air as he said this. Do you know what I did? Well, I bravely picked up the drapery which was lying in a corner, I went into my hiding-place; then, very softly without saying a word, while he was still looking at his statue, I placed myself on the platform in front of him, in the costume and attitude in which I had seen that abominable model. Ah my dear I What emotion I felt when he raised his eyes! I could have laughed and cried. I was blushing all over. And that tiresome muslin took so much arranging. Never mind! Etienne was so delighted that I was soon re-assured. Indeed, to hear him, my dear, you might suppose—-.