“That’s impossible, madam; photography always tells the truth.”

“Do you refuse?”

“Decidedly. Even if I tried you would not come out ugly.”

“That’s what my cousin the lieutenant says.”

“And he’s right.”

“But I must carry out my plan, and if you will not do it I shall go to a photographer I saw in the Calle de Francia, where some hideous women are exhibited.”

“As you like, madam.”

The lady withdraws, and the manservant calls out, “Number 26.”

Number 26 is a stalwart country bumpkin in a russet suit, who, after entering the studio, is asked if he desires his photograph on a card or on glass.

“I want those that cost twelve reals by the notice,” says he.