"That explains to me why you still make cheeks with pink tones like a perfumer's sign."
Grassou could not help coloring, for Virginie was sitting.
"Take Nature as you find her," said the great painter, going on with his lecture. "Mademoiselle is red-haired. Well, is that a sin? All things are magnificent in painting. Put some vermillion on your palette, and warm up those cheeks; touch in those little brown spots; come, butter it well in. Do you pretend to have more sense than Nature?"
"Look here," said Fougeres, "take my place while I go and write that note."
Vervelle rolled to the table and whispered in Grassou's ear:—
"Won't that country lout spoilt it?"
"If he would only paint the portrait of your Virginie it would be worth a thousand times more than mine," replied Fougeres, vehemently.
Hearing that reply the bourgeois beat a quiet retreat to his wife, who was stupefied by the invasion of this ferocious animal, and very uneasy at his co-operation in her daughter's portrait.
"Here, follow these indications," said Bridau, returning the palette, and taking the note. "I won't thank you. I can go back now to d'Arthez' chateau, where I am doing a dining-room, and Leon de Lora the tops of the doors—masterpieces! Come and see us."
And off he went without taking leave, having had enough of looking at Virginie.