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positionfor he had had more than one proof of her extreme
povertyan importunate thought would haunt him。 Several times he
had said to himself as he went home； 〃Strange！ twenty francs
every evening？〃 and he dared not confess to himself his odious
suspicions。
He spent two months over the portrait； and when it was finished；
varnished； and framed； he looked upon it as one of his best
works。 Madame la Baronne de Rouville had never spoken of it
again。 Was this from indifference or pride？ The painter would not
allow himself to account for this silence。 He joyfully plotted
with Adelaide to hang the picture in its place when Madame de
Rouville should be out。 So one day； during the walk her mother
usually took in the Tuileries； Adelaide for the first time went
up to Hippolyte's studio； on the pretext of seeing the portrait
in the good light in which it had been painted。 She stood
speechless and motionless； but in ecstatic contemplation； in
which all a woman's feelings were merged。 For are they not all
comprehended in boundless admiration for the man she loves？ When
the painter； uneasy at her silence； leaned forward to look at
her； she held out her hand； unable to speak a word； but two tears
fell from her eyes。 Hippolyte took her hand and covered it with
kisses； for a minute they looked at each other in silence； both
longing to confess their love； and not daring。 The painter kept
her hand in his； and the same glow； the same throb； told them
that their hearts were both beating wildly。 The young girl； too
greatly agitated； gently drew away from Hippolyte； and said； with
a look of the utmost simplicity：
〃You will make my mother very happy。〃
〃What； only your mother？〃 he asked。
〃Oh； I am too happy。〃
The painter bent his head and remained silent； frightened at the
vehemence of the feelings which her tones stirred in his heart。
Then； both understanding the perils of the situation； they went
downstairs and hung up the picture in its place。 Hippolyte dined
for the first time with the Baroness； who； greatly overcome； and
drowned in tears； must needs embrace him。
In the evening the old emigre； the Baron de Rouville's old
comrade； paid the ladies a visit to announce that he had just
been promoted to the rank of vice…admiral。 His voyages by land
over Germany and Russia had been counted as naval campaigns。 On
seeing the portrait he cordially shook the painter's hand； and
exclaimed； 〃By Gad！ though my old hulk does not deserve to be
perpetuated； I would gladly give five hundred pistoles to see
myself as like as that is to my dear old Rouville。〃
At this hint the Baroness looked at her young friend and smiled；
while her face lighted up with an expression of sudden gratitude。
Hippolyte suspected that the old admiral wished to offer him the
price of both portraits while paying for his own。 His pride as an
artist； no less than his jealousy perhaps； took offence at the
thought； and he replied：
〃Monsieur； if I were a portrait…painter I should not have done
this one。〃
The admiral bit his lip； and sat down to cards。
The painter remained near Adelaide； who proposed a dozen hands of
piquet； to which he agreed。 As he played he observed in Madame de
Rouville an excitement over her game which surprised him。 Never
before had the old Baroness manifested so ardent a desire to win；
or so keen a joy in fingering the old gentleman's gold pieces。
During the evening evil suspicions troubled Hippolyte's
happiness； and filled him with distrust。 Could it be that Madame
de Rouville lived by gambling？ Was she playing at this moment to
pay off some debt； or under the pressure of necessity？ Perhaps
she had not paid her rent。 The old man seemed shrewd enough not
to allow his money to be taken with impunity。 What interest
attracted him to this poverty…stricken house； he who was rich？
Why； when he had formerly been so familiar with Adelaide； had he
given up the rights he had acquired； and which were perhaps his
due？
These involuntary reflections prompted him to watch the old man
and the Baroness； whose meaning looks and certain sidelong
glances cast at Adelaide displeased him。 〃Am I being duped？〃 was
Hippolyte's last ideahorrible； scathing； for he believed it
just enough to be tortured by it。 He determined to stay after the
departure of the two old men； to confirm or dissipate his
suspicions。 He drew out his purse to pay Adelaide； but carried
away by his poignant thoughts； he laid it on the table； falling
into a reverie of brief duration； then； ashamed of his silence；
he rose； answered some commonplace question from Madame de
Rouville； and went close up to her to examine the withered
features while he was talking to her。
He went away； racked by a thousand doubts。 He had gone down but a
few steps when he turned back to fetch the forgotten purse。
〃I left my purse here！〃 he said to the young girl。
〃No；〃 she said； reddening。
〃I thought it was there；〃 and he pointed to the card…table。 Not
finding it； in his shame for Adelaide and the Baroness； he looked
at them with a blank amazement that made them laugh； turned pale；
felt his waistcoat； and said； 〃I must have made a mistake。 I have
it somewhere no doubt。〃
In one end of the purse there were fifteen louis d'or； and in the
other some small change。 The theft was so flagrant； and denied
with such effrontery； that Hippolyte no longer felt a doubt as to
his neighbors' morals。 He stood still on the stairs； and got down
with some difficulty； his knees shook； he felt dizzy； he was in a
cold sweat； he shivered； and found himself unable to walk；
struggling； as he was； with the agonizing shock caused by the
destruction of all his hopes。 And at this moment he found lurking
in his memory a number of observations； trifling in themselves；
but which corroborated his frightful suspicions； and which； by
proving the certainty of this last incident； opened his eyes as
to the character and life of these two women。
Had they really waited till the portrait was given them before
robbing him of his purse？ In such a combination the theft was
even more odious。 The painter recollected that for the last two
or three evenings Adelaide； while seeming to examine with a
girl's curiosity the particular stitch of the worn silk netting；
was probably counting the coins in the purse； while making some
light jests； quite innocent in appearance； but no doubt with the
object of watching for a moment when the sum was worth stealing。
〃The old admiral has perhaps good reasons for not marrying
Adelaide； and so the Baroness has tried〃
But at this hypothesis he checked himself； not finishing his
thought； which was contradicted by a very just reflection； 〃If
the Baroness hopes to get me to marry her daughter；〃 thought he；
〃they would not have robbed me。〃
Then； clinging to his illusions； to the love that already had
taken such deep root； he tried to find a justification in some
accident。 〃The purse must have fallen on the floor；〃 said he to
himself； 〃or I left it lying on my chair。 Or perhaps I have it
about meI am so absent…minded！〃 He searched himself with
hurried movements； but did not find the ill…starred purse。 His
memory cruelly retraced the fatal truth； minute by minute。 He
distinctly saw the purse lying on the green cloth； but then；
doubtful no longer； he excused Adelaide； telling himself that
persons in misfortune should not be so hastily condemned。 There
was； of course； some secret behind this apparently degrading
action。 He would not admit that that proud and noble face was a
lie。
At the same time the wretched rooms rose before him； denuded of
the poetry of love which beautifies everything； he saw them dirty
and faded； regarding them as emblematic of an inner life devoid
of honor； idle and vicious。 Are not our feelings written； as it
were； on the things about us？
Next morning he rose； not having slept。 T