"Good-day, monsieur!"
He glowered with complete unreserve.
"You are displeased, monsieur; I intrude?"
"You do, mademoiselle."
The tone was uncompromising, but Jacqueline came on, softly moving nearer and nearer to the easel, looking from the canvas to Max and back again to the canvas in an amused, secret fashion comprehensible to herself alone.
"You feel like my poor Lucien, when an interruption offers itself to his work; but, as I say, ennui is the price of admiration! Is it not so, Monsieur Max?"
She leaned her blonde head to one side, and looked at him with the naïve quality of meditation that so became her.
"Do not permit me to disturb you, monsieur! Continue working."
"Thank you, mademoiselle!" A flicker of irony was observable in the tone and, with exaggerated zeal, he returned to his task.
The girl came softly behind him, looking over his shoulder.