In the Days of My Youth: A Novel

by Amelia B. Edwards

"Madame Bouïsse, are you here?"

"Not only Madame Bouïsse, but an intruder who implores forgiveness," said Hortense, with a frank smile, but a heightened color.

I bowed profoundly. No need to tell her she was welcome--my face spoke for me.

"It was Madame Bouïsse who lured me in," continued she, "to look at that painting."

"Mais, oui! I told mam'selle you had her portrait in your sitting-room," laughed the fat concierge, leaning on her broom. "I'm sure it's quite like enough to be hers, bless her sweet face!"

I felt myself turn scarlet. To hide my confusion I took the picture down, and carried it to the window.

"You will see it better by this light," I said, pretending to dust it with my handkerchief. "It is worth a close examination."

Hortense knelt down, and studied it for some moments in silence.

"It must be a copy," she said, presently, more to herself than me--"it must be a copy."

"It is a copy," I replied. "The original is at the Château de Sainte Aulaire, near Montlhéry."