Gethryn opened the door quickly. “Ah, Elise! Bon jour!” he said, pleasantly. “Entrez donc!”
“Merci, Monsieur Gethryn,” smiled his visitor, a tall, well-shaped girl with dark eyes and red cheeks.
“Ten minutes late,” Elise, said Gethryn, laughing, “my time’s worth a franc a minute; so prepare to pay up.”
“Very well,” retorted the girl, also laughing and showing her pretty teeth, “but I have decided to charge twenty francs an hour from today. Now, what do you owe me, Monsieur?”
Gethryn shook his brushes at her. “You are spoiled, Elise—you used to pose very well and were never late.”
“And I pose well now!” she cried, her professional pride piqued. “Monsieur Bonnat and Monsieur Constant have praised me all this week. Voila,” she finished, throwing off her waist and letting her skirts fall in a circle to her feet.
“Oh, you can pose if you will,” answered Gethryn, pleasantly. “Come, we begin?”
The girl stepped daintily out of the pile of discarded clothes, and picking her way across the room with her bare feet, sprang lightly upon the model stand.
“The same as last week?” she asked, smiling frankly.
“Yes, that’s it,” he replied, shifting his easel and glancing up at the light; “only drop the left elbow a bit—there, that’s it; now a little to the left—the knee—that will do.”