fifteen years placed between Augustine and himself。 Being also too
clear…sighted not to understand Monsieur Guillaume's purpose； he knew
his inexorable principles well enough to feel sure that the second
would never marry before the elder。 So the hapless assistant； whose
heart was as warm as his legs were long and his chest deep； suffered
in silence。
This was the state of the affairs in the tiny republic which； in the
heart of the Rue Saint…Denis； was not unlike a dependency of La
Trappe。 But to give a full account of events as well as of feelings；
it is needful to go back to some months before the scene with which
this story opens。 At dusk one evening； a young man passing the
darkened shop of the Cat and Racket； had paused for a moment to gaze
at a picture which might have arrested every painter in the world。 The
shop was not yet lighted； and was as a dark cave beyond which the
dining…room was visible。 A hanging lamp shed the yellow light which
lends such charm to pictures of the Dutch school。 The white linen； the
silver； the cut glass； were brilliant accessories； and made more
picturesque by strong contrasts of light and shade。 The figures of the
head of the family and his wife； the faces of the apprentices； and the
pure form of Augustine； near whom a fat chubby…cheeked maid was
standing； composed so strange a group； the heads were so singular； and
every face had so candid an expression； it was so easy to read the
peace； the silence； the modest way of life in this family； that to an
artist accustomed to render nature； there was something hopeless in
any attempt to depict this scene； come upon by chance。 The stranger
was a young painter； who； seven years before； had gained the first
prize for painting。 He had now just come back from Rome。 His soul；
full…fed with poetry； his eyes； satiated with Raphael and Michael
Angelo； thirsted for real nature after long dwelling in the pompous
land where art has everywhere left something grandiose。 Right or
wrong； this was his personal feeling。 His heart； which had long been a
prey to the fire of Italian passion； craved one of those modest and
meditative maidens whom in Rome he had unfortunately seen only in
painting。 From the enthusiasm produced in his excited fancy by the
living picture before him； he naturally passed to a profound
admiration for the principal figure； Augustine seemed to be pensive；
and did not eat； by the arrangement of the lamp the light fell full on
her face； and her bust seemed to move in a circle of fire； which threw
up the shape of her head and illuminated it with almost supernatural
effect。 The artist involuntarily compared her to an exiled angel
dreaming of heaven。 An almost unknown emotion； a limpid； seething love
flooded his heart。 After remaining a minute； overwhelmed by the weight
of his ideas； he tore himself from his bliss； went home； ate nothing；
and could not sleep。
The next day he went to his studio； and did not come out of it till he
had placed on canvas the magic of the scene of which the memory had；
in a sense； made him a devotee； his happiness was incomplete till he
should possess a faithful portrait of his idol。 He went many times
past the house of the Cat and Racket； he even ventured in once or
twice； under a disguise； to get a closer view of the bewitching
creature that Madame Guillaume covered with her wing。 For eight whole
months； devoted to his love and to his brush； he was lost to the sight
of his most intimate friends forgetting the world； the theatre；
poetry； music； and all his dearest habits。 One morning Girodet broke
through all the barriers with which artists are familiar； and which
they know how to evade； went into his room； and woke him by asking；
〃What are you going to send to the Salon？〃 The artist grasped his
friend's hand； dragged him off to the studio； uncovered a small easel
picture and a portrait。 After a long and eager study of the two
masterpieces； Girodet threw himself on his comrade's neck and hugged
him； without speaking a word。 His feelings could only be expressed as
he felt themsoul to soul。
〃You are in love？〃 said Girodet。
They both knew that the finest portraits by Titian； Raphael； and
Leonardo da Vinci； were the outcome of the enthusiastic sentiments by
which； indeed； under various conditions； every masterpiece is
engendered。 The artist only bent his head in reply。
〃How happy are you to be able to be in love； here； after coming back
from Italy！ But I do not advise you to send such works as these to the
Salon；〃 the great painter went on。 〃You see； these two works will not
be appreciated。 Such true coloring； such prodigious work； cannot yet
be understood； the public is not accustomed to such depths。 The
pictures we paint； my dear fellow； are mere screens。 We should do
better to turn rhymes； and translate the antique poets！ There is more
glory to be looked for there than from our luckless canvases！〃
Notwithstanding this charitable advice； the two pictures were
exhibited。 The /Interior/ made a revolution in painting。 It gave birth
to the pictures of genre which pour into all our exhibitions in such
prodigious quantity that they might be supposed to be produced by
machinery。 As to the portrait； few artists have forgotten that
lifelike work； and the public； which as a body is sometimes
discerning； awarded it the crown which Girodet himself had hung over
it。 The two pictures were surrounded by a vast throng。 They fought for
places； as women say。 Speculators and moneyed men would have covered
the canvas with double napoleons； but the artist obstinately refused
to sell or to make replicas。 An enormous sum was offered him for the
right of engraving them； and the print…sellers were not more favored
than the amateurs。
Though these incidents occupied the world； they were not of a nature
to penetrate the recesses of the monastic solitude in the Rue Saint…
Denis。 However； when paying a visit to Madame Guillaume； the notary's
wife spoke of the exhibition before Augustine； of whom she was very
fond； and explained its purpose。 Madame Roguin's gossip naturally
inspired Augustine with a wish to see the pictures； and with courage
enough to ask her cousin secretly to take her to the Louvre。 Her
cousin succeeded in the negotiations she opened with Madame Guillaume
for permission to release the young girl for two hours from her dull
labors。 Augustine was thus able to make her way through the crowd to
see the crowned work。 A fit of trembling shook her like an aspen leaf
as she recognized herself。 She was terrified； and looked about her to
find Madame Roguin； from whom she had been separated by a tide of
people。 At that moment her frightened eyes fell on the impassioned
face of the young painter。 She at once recalled the figure of a
loiterer whom； being curious； she had frequently observed； believing
him to be a new neighbor。
〃You see how love has inspired me；〃 said the artist in the timid
creature's ear； and she stood in dismay at the words。
She found supernatural courage to enable her to push through the crowd
and join her cousin； who was still struggling with the mass of people
that hindered her from getting to the picture。
〃You will be stifled！〃 cried Augustine。 〃Let us go。〃
But there are moments； at the Salon； when two women are not always
free to direct their steps through the galleries。 By the irregular
course to which they were compelled by the press； Mademoiselle
Guillaume and her cousin were pushed to within a few steps of the
second picture。 Chance thus brought them； both together； to where they
could easily see the canvas made famous by fashion； for once in
agreement with talent。 Madame Roguin's exclamation of surprise was
lost in the hubbub and buzz of the crowd； Augustine involuntarily shed
tears at the sight of this wonderful study。 Then； by an almost
unaccountable impulse； she laid her finger on her lips； as she
perceived quite near her the ecstatic face of the young painter。 The
stranger replied by a nod； and pointed to Madame Roguin； as a spoil…
sport； to show Augustine that he had understood。 This pantomime struck
the young girl like hot coals on her flesh； she felt quite guilty as
she perceived that there was a compact between herself and the artist。
The suffocating heat； the dazzling sight of beautiful dresses； the
bewilderment produced in Augustine's brain by the truth of coloring；
the multitude of living or painted figures； the profusion of gilt
frames； gave her a sense of intoxication which doubled her alarms。 She
would perhaps have fainted if an unknown rapture had not surged up in
her heart to vivify her whole being； in spite of this chaos of
sensations。 She nevertheless believed herself to be under the power of
the Devil； of whose awful snares she had been warned of by the
thundering words of preachers。 This moment was to her like a moment of
madness。 She found herself accompanied to her cousin's carriage by the
young man； radiant with joy and love。 Augustine； a prey to an
agitation new to her experience； an intoxication which seemed to
abandon her to nature； listened to the eloquent voice of her heart；
and looked again and again at the young painter； betraying the emotion
that came over her。 Never had the bright rose of her cheeks shown in
stronger contrast with the whiteness of her skin。 The artist saw her
beauty in all its bloom； her maiden modesty in all its glory。 She
herself felt a sort of rapture mingled with terror at thinking that
her presence had brought happiness to him whose name was on every lip；
and whose talent lent immortality to transient scenes。 She was loved！
It was impossible to doubt it。 When she no longer saw the artist；
these simple words still echoed in her ear； 〃You see how love has
inspired me！〃 And the throbs of her heart； as they grew deeper； seemed
a pain； her heated blood revealed so many unknown forces in her being。
She affected a severe headache to avoid replying to her cousin's
questions concerning the pictures； but on their return Madame Roguin
could not forbear from speaking to Madame Guillaume of the fame that
had fallen on the house of the Cat and Racket； and Augustine quaked in
every limb as she heard her mother say that she