I was so pleased with my work that I danced from sheer delight as I carried it back to the inn. I had wished that the whole world could have seen it at one and the same moment. I can remember that I showed it to a cow, which was browsing by the wayside, exclaiming at the same time: "Look at that, my old beauty, you shall not often see its like again."
When I had reached the front of the house, I immediately called out to Mother Lecacheur, shouting with all my might:
"Ohè! Ohè! my mistress, come here and look at this."
The rustic advanced and regarded my work with her stupid eyes which distinguished nothing, and which did not even recognize whether the picture was the representation of an ox or a house.
Miss Harriet returned to the house, and she passed in rear of me just at the moment when, holding out my canvas at arm's length, I was exhibiting it to the female innkeeper. The demoniac could not help but see it, for I took care to exhibit the thing in such a way that it could not escape her notice. She stopped abruptly and stood motionless, stupefied. It was her rock which was depicted, the one which she climbed to dream away her time undisturbed.
She uttered a British "Aoh," which was at once so accentuated and so flattering, that I turned round to her, smiling, and said:
"This is my last work, Mademoiselle."
She murmured ecstatically, comically and tenderly:
"Oh! Monsieur, you must understand what it is to have a palpitation."
I colored up, of course, and was more excited by that compliment than if it had come from a queen. I was seduced, conquered, vanquished. I could have embraced her; upon my honor.