"_Mais c'est charmant!_" exclaimed the ambassador; and the adjective was
echoed in every key by the rest of the little coterie.
"I expect him here this evening," said Madame; "and I shall be very much
gratified if you will permit me to present him to your excellency."
The ambassador bowed. "Any _protegee_ of Madame's," he said, and so on.
Mr. Granger, who was really a judge of art, fastened on to the picture
immediately.
"There's something fresh in the style, Clary," he said. "I should like this
man to paint your portrait. What's the signature? Austin! That's hardly a
French name, I should think--eh, Madame Caballero?"
"No," replied Madame; "Mr. Austin is an Englishman. I shall be charmed if
you will allow him to paint Mrs. Granger; and I'm sure he will be delighted
to have such a subject."
There was a good deal of talk about Mr. Austin's painting, and art in
general. There were some half dozen pictures of the modern French school
in this inner room, which helped to sustain the conversation. Mr. Granger
talked very fair French, of a soundly grammatical order; and Clarissa's
tongue ran almost as gaily as in her schoolgirl days at Belforet. She was
going to see her brother--to see him shining in good society, and not in
the pernicious "set" of which George Fairfax had spoken. The thought was
rapture to her. They might have a few minutes' talk to themselves, perhaps,
before the evening was over.
Pages:
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491