“Perhaps,” murmured he, “the time is not far distant when I shall have the right to be with her in her walks, and feel her arm pressed against mine.”
By this time Sabine and her companion had reached the Rue Blanche, and hailing a cab, were rapidly driven away. Andre gazed after it, and as soon as it was out of sight, decided to return to his work. As he passed a brilliantly lighted shop, a fresh young voice saluted him.
“M. Andre, M. Andre.”
He looked up in extreme surprise, and saw a young woman, dressed in the most extravagant style, standing by the door of a brougham, which glittered with fresh paint and varnish. In vain he tried to think who she could be, but at length his memory served him.
“Mademoiselle Rose,” said he, “or I am much mistaken.”
A shrill, squeaky voice replied, “Madame Zora Chantemille, if you please.”
Andre turned sharply round and found himself face to face with a young man who had completed an order he was giving to the coachman.
“Ah, is that you?” said he.
“Yes, Chantemille is the name of the estate that I intend to settle on madame.”
The painter examined the personage who had just addressed him with much curiosity. He was dressed in the height or rather the burlesque of fashion, wore an eyeglass, and an enormous locket on his chain. The face which surmounted all this grandeur was almost that of a monkey, and Toto Chupin had not exaggerated its ugliness when he likened it to that animal.