Women were seated round the table, whilst the men were eating, standing up behind them. Exclamations were, heard, an enthusiasm, which died away as the mouths were filled with food. The gentlemen were appealed to. Madame Josserand cried:
“Ah! yes, I was forgetting. Come and look, Monsieur Mouret, you who love the arts.”
“Take care, the water-colour stroke!” murmured Trublot, who knew the house.
It was better than a water-colour. As though by chance, a porcelain bowl was standing on the table; right at the very bottom of it, surrounded by the brand new varnished bronze mounting, Greuze’s “Young girl with the broken Pitcher” was painted in light colours, passing from pale lilac to faint blue. Berthe smiled in the midst of the praise.
“Mademoiselle possesses every talent,” said Octave with his good-natured grace. “Oh! the colours are so well blended, and it is very accurate, very accurate!”
“I can guarantee that the design is!” resumed Madame Josserand, triumphantly. “There is not a hair too many or few. Berthe copied it here, from an engraving. There are really such a number of nude subjects at the Louvre, and the people there are at times so mixed!”
She had lowered her voice when giving this last piece of information, desirous of letting the young man know that, though her daughter was an artist, she did not let that carry her beyond the limits of propriety. She probably, however, thought Octave rather cold, she felt that the bowl had not met with the success she had anticipated, and she watched him with an anxious look, whilst Valérie and Madame Juzeur, who were drinking their fourth cup of tea, examined the painting and gave vent to little cries of admiration.
“You are looking at her again,” said Trublot to Octave, on seeing him with his eyes fixed on Valérie.
“Why, yes,” replied he, slightly confused. “It is funny, she looks pretty just at this moment. A warm woman, evidently. I say, do you think one might venture?”
“Warm, one never knows. It is a peculiar fancy! Anyhow, it would be better than marrying the girl.”