“Oh! was that what made her cry?” said Cadet, laughingly; “when anyone treads on the feet of our girls about here, they don’t yell; they know what it means. They ain’t like Suzanne! By the way, monsieur, uncle says you make portraits; do you make faces too?”
“What do you suppose that I make?”
“Why, I mean a head, with eyes and a nose, et cetera.”
“I generally find nothing else to paint.”
“Pardi, monsieur, if you had time to catch the likeness of my bride, just the face alone, I’d like it mighty well.”
“I haven’t anything but my pencils in my valise, but I can try to draw her.”
“Draw her! Will that be just the same?”
“To be sure.”
“Mademoiselle Suzanne Tapotte, monsieur is going to make your portrait; he’s going to catch you.”
The bride made some objection to allowing herself to be drawn; but Monsieur Cadet was obstinate about it, and she finally consented to lend her face to Auguste, who asked for a room where he could work quietly and without being disturbed.