Josephine was visibly impatient.

She had seen the wedding-party going down one of the walks at the back of the house; and the _concierge_ was waiting to let us out.

I drew her aside, and slipped a liberal gratuity into her hand.
"If I were to come down here some day with a friend of mine who is a painter," I whispered, "would you have any objection, Madame, to allow him to make a little sketch of that portrait ?" The _concierge_ looked into her palm, and seeing the value of the coin, smiled, hesitated, put her finger to her lip, and said:-- "_Ma foi_, M'sieur, I believe I have no business to allow it; but--to oblige a gentleman like you--if there was nobody about--" I nodded.

We understood each other sufficiently, and no more was needed.
Once out of the house, Medemoiselle Josephine pouted, and took upon herself to be sulky--a disposition which was by no means lessened when, after traversing the park in various directions in search of the bridal company, we found that they had gone out long ago by a gate at the other side of the estate, and were by this time piping, most probably, in the adjoining parish.
It was now five o'clock; so we hastened back through the village, cast a last glance at the grim old tower on its steep solitude, consigned ourselves to the yellow omnibus, and in due time were once more flying along the iron road towards Paris.

The rapid motion, the dignity of occupying a first-class seat, and, above all, the prospects of an excellent dinner, soon brought my fair companion round again, and by the time we reached the Moulin Rouge, she was all vivacity and good temper.
The less I say about that dinner the better.