Amedee's eyes were at once attracted by the portrait of a handsome lieutenant of artillery, dressed in the regimental coat, with long skirts, of 1845, and wearing a sword-belt fastened by two lion's heads.

This officer, in parade costume, was painted in the midst of a desert, seated under a palm-tree.
"That is my father," said Maurice.

"Do I not resemble him ?" The resemblance was really striking.

The same warm, pleasant smile, and even the same blond curls.

Amedee was admiring it when a voice repeated behind him, like an echo: "Maurice resembles him, does he not ?" It was Madame Roger who had quietly entered.