Mercourt, a young critic and friend of Laurent, entered the studio.
"I know," he said, "that you are going to Montmorency. So I have simply looked in to ask you for an address, Mademoiselle Jacques's."
Laurent started.
"What the devil do you want of Mademoiselle Jacques?" he rejoined, pretending to be looking for cigarette-papers.
"I? nothing—that is to say, yes, I would like to know her; but I know her only by sight and reputation. I want her address for a person who is anxious to be painted."
"You know Mademoiselle Jacques by sight, you say?"
"Parbleu! she is altogether famous now, and who has not noticed her? She is made to be noticed!"
"You think so?"
"To be sure, and you?"
"I? I know nothing about it. I am very fond of her, so I am not a competent judge."