M'sieur is a connoisseur." "But do you know whose portrait it is ?" "To be sure I do, M'sieur.

It's the portrait of the last Marquise--the one who was guillotined, poor soul, with her husband, in--let me see--in 1793!" "What an exquisite creature! Look, Josephine, did you ever see anything so beautiful ?" "Beautiful!" repeated the grisette, with a sidelong glance at one of the mirrors.

"Beautiful, with such a coiffure and such a bodice! _Ciel!_ how tastes differ!" "But her face, Josephine!" "What of her face?
I'm sure it's plain enough." "Plain! Good heavens! what..." But it was not worth while to argue upon it.

I pulled out one of the old chairs, and so climbed near enough to dust the surface of the painting with my handkerchief.
"I wish I could buy it!" I exclaimed.
Josephine burst into a loud laugh.
"_Grand Dieu_!" said she, half pettishly, "if you are so much in love with it as all that, I dare say it would not be difficult!" The _concierge_ shook her head.
"Everything on this estate is locked up," said she.

"Nothing can be sold, nothing given away, nothing even repaired, till the _proces_ is ended." I sighed, and came down reluctantly from my perch.