by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER V.
There was no more talk after the master had given the order for work.Most of the easels were shifted round and fresh positions taken up, thenthere was a little pause.
"She is late," M. Goude said, with an impatient stamp of the foot. Thewords were scarcely out of his mouth when the door opened and a girlentered.
"Good-morning, messieurs," and she made a sweeping courtesy.
"You are five minutes late, Minette."
"Ma foi, master, what would you have with the Prussians in sight and allParis in the streets--five minutes mean neither here nor there. Iexpected praise for having come at all."
"There, there," the artist said hastily, "run into your closet andchange, we are all waiting."
She walked across the room to a door in the corner, with an expressionof careless defiance in her face, and reappeared in five minutes in thedress of a Mexican peasant girl attired for a fete. The dress suited heradmirably. She was rather above the middle height, her figure lithe andsupple with exceptionally graceful curves; her head was admirably poisedon her neck. Her hair was very dark, and her complexion Spanish ratherthan French. Her father was from Marseilles and her mother from Arles.
Minette was considered the best model in Paris, and M. Goude had themerit of having discovered her. Three years before, when passing througha street inhabited by the poorer class of workmen in Montmartre, he hadseen her leaning carelessly against a doorway. He was struck with theeasy grace of her pose. He walked up the street and then returned. As hedid so he saw her spring out and encounter an older woman, and at onceenter upon a fierce altercation with her. It was carried on with all theaccompaniment of southern gesture and ceased as suddenly as it began;the girl, with a gesture of scorn and contempt turning and walking backto the post she had left with a mien as haughty as that of a Queendismissing an insolent subject.
"That girl would be worth a fortune as a model," the artist muttered. "Imust secure her; her action and gesture are superb." He walked up toher, lifted his broad hat, and said "Mademoiselle, I am an artist. Myname is Goude. I have an academy for painting, and I need a model. Thework is not hard, it is but to sit or stand for two or three hours of amorning, and the remuneration I should offer would be five francs a dayfor this. Have I your permission to speak to your parents?"
There was an angry glitter in her eye--a change in her pose that,slight as it was, reminded the artist of a cat about to spring.
"A model for a painter, monsieur? Is it that you dare to propose that Ishall sit without clothes to be stared at by young men? I have heard ofsuch things. Is this what monsieur wishes?"
"Not at all, not at all," Mr. Goude said hastily. "Mademoiselle wouldalways be dressed. She would be sometimes a Roman lady, sometimes aSpanish peasant, a Moorish girl, a Breton, or other maiden. You wouldalways be free to refuse any costume that you considered unsuitable."
Her expression changed again. "If that is all, I might do it," she said;"it is an easy way of earning money. How often would you want me?"
"I should say three times a week, and on the other three days you wouldhave no difficulty in obtaining similar work among artists of my ownacquaintance. Here is my card and address."
The girl took it carelessly.
"I will speak to my father about it this evening when he comes home fromwork. You are quite sure that I shall not have to undress at all?"
"I have assured mademoiselle already that nothing of the sort will berequired of her. There are models indeed who pose for figure, but theseare a class apart, and I can assure mademoiselle that her feelings ofdelicacy will be absolutely respected."
The next day Minette Dufaure appeared at the studio and had ever sincesat for all the female figures required. The air of disdain and defianceshe had first shown soon passed away, and she entered with zest andeagerness upon her work. She delighted in being prettily and becominglydressed. She listened intelligently to the master's descriptions of thecharacters that she was to assume, and delighted him with the readinesswith which she assumed suitable poses, and the steadiness with which shemaintained them.
There was nothing of the stiffness of the model in her attitudes. Theyhad the charm of being unstudied and natural, and whether as abacchanal, a peasant girl, or a Gaulish amazon, she looked the partequally well; her face was singularly mobile, and although this was aninferior consideration to the master, she never failed to represent theexpression appropriate to the character she assumed.
Her reputation was soon established among the artists who occasionallydropped into Goude's studio, and her spare time was fully occupied, andthat at much higher rates of pay than those she earned with him. Afterthe first two or three months she came but twice a week there, as thatamply sufficed for the needs of the studio. On his telling her that heshould no longer require her to come three times a week, as his pupilshad other things to learn besides drawing the female figure, the mastersaid--
"I must pay you higher in future, Minette. I know that my friends arepaying you five francs an hour."
"A bargain is a bargain," she said. "You came to me first, and but foryou I should never have earned a penny. Now we have moved into a betterstreet and have comfortable lodgings. We have everything we want, and Iam laying by money fast. You have always treated me well, and I like youthough your temper is even worse than my father's. I shall keep to myagreement as long as you keep to yours, and if you do not I shall notcome here at all."
With the students Minette was a great favorite. In the pause of fiveminutes every half-hour to allow her to change her position, she chattedand laughed with them with the frankest good temper, more than holdingher own in the sallies of chaff. When they occasionally made excursionsin a body into the country to sketch and paint, she was always of theparty, going in the capacity of comrade instead of that of a model,contributing a full share to the lunch basket, but ready to pose as apeasant girl with a fagot on her head, a gleaner, or a country-womanwith a baby on her lap, according to the scene and requirements. It wasa matter of course that Minette should be present at every supper partyor little fete among the students, always being placed in the seat ofhonor at the head of the table, and joining in all the fun of thosemerry reunions. For a time she treated all alike as comrades, andaccepted no compliments save those so extravagant as to provoke generallaughter. Gradually, however, it came to be understood among thestudents that Minette made an exception in the case of Arnold Dampierre,and that on occasions when they happened to break up in pairs he wasgenerally by her side.
"One never can tell what women will do," Rene Caillard said one evening,when five or six of them were sitting smoking together. "Now, Minettemight have the pick of us."
"No, no, Rene," one of the others protested, "most of us are suitedalready."
"Well, several of us, then. I am at present unattached, and so areAndre, and Pierre, and Jean; so is Cuthbert. Now, putting us aside, nowoman in her senses could hesitate between the Englishman and Dampierre.He has a better figure, is stronger and better looking. He is cleverer,and is as good-tempered as the American is bad; and yet she takes afancy for Dampierre, and treats all the rest of us, including theEnglishman, as if we were boys."
"I fancy women like deference," Pierre Leroux said. "She is a goodcomrade with us all, she laughs and jokes with us as if she were one ofourselves. Now the American very seldom laughs and never jokes. Hetreats her as if she were a duchess and takes her altogether seriously.I believe he would be capable of marrying her."
The others all burst into a laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" Cuthbert asked, as he entered the room atthe moment.
"Pierre is just saying that he thinks the American is capable ofmarrying Minette."
"I hope not," Cuthbert said, more seriously than he generally spoke."Minette is altogether charming as she is. She is full of fun and life;she is clever and sparkling. There is no doubt that in her style she isvery pretty. As to her grace it needs no saying. I think she is anhonest good girl, but the i
dea of marrying her would frighten me. We seethe surface and it is a very pleasant one, but it is only the surface.Do you think a woman could look as she does in some of her poses and notfeel it? We have never seen her in a passion, but if she got into one,it would be terrible. When she flashes out sometimes it is like a tongueof flame from a slumbering volcano. You would feel that there might bean eruption that would sweep everything before it. As you know, I gaveup painting her after the first two months, but I sketch her in everypose; not always her whole figure, but her face, and keep the sketchesfor use some day. I was looking through them only yesterday and I saidto myself, 'this woman is capable of anything.' She might be a Joan ofArc, or Lucraetzia Borghia. She is a puzzle to me altogether. Put her ina quiet, happy home and she might turn out one of the best of women. Lether be thrown into turbulent times and she might become a demon ofmischief. At present she is altogether undeveloped. She is two andtwenty in years, but a child, or rather a piquant, amusing young girl,in manner, and perhaps in disposition. She is an enigma of which Ishould be sorry to have to undertake the solution. As she seems, I likeher immensely, but when I try to fathom what she really is, shefrightens me."
The others laughed.
"Poor little Minette," Pierre Leroux said. "You are too hard upon heraltogether, Cuthbert. The girl is a born actress and would make herfortune on the stage. She can represent, by the instinct of art,passions which she has never felt. She can be simple and majestic, alaughing girl and a furious woman, a Christian martyr and a bacchanal,simply because she has mobile features, intelligence, sentiment,emotion, and a woman's instinct, that is all. She is a jolly littlegirl, and the only fault I have to find with her is that she has the badtaste to prefer that gloomy American to me."
"Well, I hope you are right, Pierre, though I hold my own opinionunchanged--at any rate I sincerely trust that Dampierre will not make afool of himself with her. You men do not like him because you don'tunderstand him. You are gay and light-hearted, you take life as itcomes. You form connections easily and lightly, and break them off againa few months later just as easily. Dampierre takes life earnestly. He isindolent, but that is a matter of race and blood. He would not do adishonorable action to save his life. I believe he is the heir to alarge fortune, and he can, therefore, afford to work at his art in adilettante sort of manner, and not like us poor beggars who look forwardto earning our livelihood by it. He is passionate, I grant, but that isthe effect of his bringing up on a plantation in Louisiana, surroundedby his father's slaves, for though they are now free by law the natureof the negro is unchanged, and servitude is his natural position. Thelittle white master is treated like a god, every whim is humored, andthere being no restraining hand upon him, it would be strange if he didnot become hasty and somewhat arrogant.
"Not that there is any arrogance about Dampierre--he is unaffected andsimple in his tastes, except in the matter of his lodgings. I questionif there is one of us who spends less than he does, but he no moreunderstands you than you understand him; he takes your badinageseriously, and cannot understand that it is harmless fun. However, he isbetter in that respect than when he first came over, and in time, nodoubt, his touchiness will die out. God forbid that he should ever spoilhis life by such a hideous mistake as marrying Minette. Except on theprinciple that people are always attracted by their opposites, I can'taccount for his infatuation for this girl, or for her taking up withhim. He has never alluded to the subject to me. I don't know that hername has ever been mentioned between us. I agree with you that I thinkhe is in earnest about her, but my conclusion is certainly not formed onanything he has ever said himself. I have often thought that a good dealof his irritability arises from his annoyance at her fun and easy waywith us all. He never comes to any of our little meetings. If he isreally in earnest about her, I can understand that it would be aterrible annoyance to him to see her taking a lead in such meetings andassociating so freely with your, let us say, temporary wives. I haveseen him on some of our sketching excursions walk away, unable tocontain his anger when you have all been laughing and joking with her."
"I consider that to be an insolence," Rene said hotly.
"No, no, Rene, imagine yourself five years older, and making a fortunerapidly by your art, in love with some girl whom you hope to make yourwife. I ask you whether you would like to see her laughing and chatting_en bonne camarade_ with a lot of wild young students. Still less, ifyou can imagine such a thing, joining heart and soul in the fun of oneof their supper parties. You would not like it, would you?"
"No," Rene admitted frankly. "I own I shouldn't. Of course, I cannoteven fancy such a thing occurring, but if it did I can answer for itthat I should not be able to keep my temper. I think now that you put itso, we shall be able to make more allowances for the American infuture."
To this the others all agreed, and henceforth the tension that had notunfrequently existed between Dampierre and his fellow-students wassensibly relaxed.
"You were not here last week, Minette," M. Goude said, as he went up onto the platform at the end of the room to arrange her pose.
"I did not think that you would expect me, master," she said, "but evenif you had I could not have come. Do you think that one could standstill like a statue for hours when great things were being done, whenthe people were getting their liberty again, and the flag of the despotwas being pulled down from the Tuileries. I have blood in my veins,master, not ice."
"Bah!" M. Goude exclaimed. "What difference does it make to you, or toanyone as far as I see, whether the taxes are levied in the name of anEmperor or of a Republic? Do you think a Republic is going to feed youany better and reduce your rents, or to permit Belleville and Montmartreto become masters of Paris? In a short time they will grumble at theRepublic just as they grumble at the Emperor. It is folly and madness.The Emperor is nothing to me, the Government is nothing to me. I haveto pay my taxes--they are necessary--for the army has to be kept up andthe Government paid; beyond that I do not care a puff of my pipe whatGovernment may call itself."
"You will see what you will see," said the girl, sententiously.
"I dare say, Minette, as long as I have eyes I shall do that. Now don'twaste any more time."
"What am I to be, master?"
"A Spanish peasant girl dancing; hold these slips of wood in your hand,they are supposed to be castanets; now just imagine that music isplaying and that you are keeping time to it with them, and swaying yourbody, rather than moving your feet to the music."
After two or three changes she struck an attitude that satisfied themaster.
"That will do, Minette, stand as you are; you cannot improve that. Now,gentlemen, to work."
She was standing with one foot advanced, as if in the act of springingon to it; one of her arms was held above her head, the other advancedacross her body; her head was thrown back, and her balance perfect.
Cuthbert looked up from his work, took out a note-book, and rapidlysketched the figure; and then, putting his book into his pocket again,returned to his work, the subject of which was a party of Bretonmobiles, with stacked arms under some trees in the Champs Elysee. He hadtaken the sketch two days before and was now transferring it on tocanvas.
"I should not be surprised," he thought to himself, "if the girl isright, and if there is not serious trouble brewing in the slums ofParis.
"As soon as these fellows find out that they are no better off for thechange, and that a Republic does not mean beer and skittles, or, as theywould like, unlimited absinthe and public workshops, with short hoursand high pay, they will begin to get savage, and then there will betrouble. The worst of it is one can never rely upon the troops, anddiscipline is certainly more relaxed than usual now that the Emperorhas been upset, and every Jack thinks himself as good as his master.Altogether I think we are likely to have lively times here before long.I am not sure that the enemies within are not likely to prove as great adanger to Paris as the foe without. It was a happy idea of mine to cometo Paris, and I am likely to get subjects
enough to last for alife-time, though I don't know that battle scenes are altogether in myline. It does not seem to me that I have any line in particular yet. Itis a nuisance having to decide on that, because I have heard Wilson sayan artist, like a writer, must have a line, and when he has once takenit up he must stick to it. If a man once paints sea pieces the publiclook to get sea pieces from him, and won't take anything else. It is thesame thing if he accustoms them to Eastern, or Spanish, or any otherline.
"It maybe that this war will decide the matter for me, which will be acomfort and relief, though I doubt if I shall ever be able to stick inone groove. Goude said only yesterday that I had better go on working atboth figure and landscape. At present he could not give an opinion as towhich I was likely to succeed in best, but that he rather fancied thatscenes of life and action, combined with good backgrounds, were myforte, and battle scenes would certainly seem to come under thatcategory."
After work was over Cuthbert went out by himself and spent the afternoonin sketching. He was engaged on a group of soldiers listening to one oftheir number reading a bulletin of the latest news, when his eye fell ona young lady walking with a brisk step towards him. He started, thenclosed his note-book suddenly, and as she was on the point of passing,turned to her and held out his hand.
"Have you dropped from the skies, Miss Brander?"
There was surprise, but neither embarrassment nor emotion on her face asshe said, frankly--
"Why, Cuthbert Hartington, this is a curious meeting. I did know youwere in Paris, for I had heard as much from my father, but I had no ideaof your address and I have wondered many times since I came here, fiveweeks ago, whether we should run against each other. No, I have notdropped from the clouds, and you ought to have known I should be here; Itold you that I was going to have a year in Germany and then a year inFrance. My year in Germany was up two months ago. I went home for afortnight, and here I am as a matter of course."
"I might have known you would carry out your programme exactly as youhad sketched it, but I thought that the disturbed state of things overhere might have induced you to defer that part of the plan until a moreappropriate season. Surely Paris is not just at present a pleasant abodefor a young lady, and is likely to be a much more unpleasant one lateron."
"I think there could hardly be a more appropriate time for being here,Mr. Hartington; one could have no better time for studying socialproblems than the present when conventionalities have gone to the windsand one sees people as they are; but this is hardly the place to talk. Iam boarding with a family at No. 15 Avenue de Passy. Will you come andsee me there?"
"Certainly I will, if you will allow me. What will be a convenienttime?"
"I should say three o'clock in the afternoon. They are all out then,except Madame Michaud and her little daughter, and we shall be able tochat comfortably, which we could not do if you came in the evening, whenthe father is at home and two boys who are away at school during theday. Will you come to-morrow?"
"Yes, my afternoons are free at present."
She held out her hand and then walked away with a steady business-likestep. Cuthbert stood watching her till she had disappeared in the crowd.
"She has no more sentiment in her composition at present," he said tohimself with a laugh that had some bitterness in it, "than a nethermillstone. Her mind is so wrapped up in this confounded fad of hers thatthere is no room in it for anything else. I might have been a cousin,instead of a man she had refused, for any embarrassment or awkwardnessshe felt at our sudden meeting. It clearly made no impression at allupon her. She remembers, of course, that she met me at Newquay. I don'tsuppose she has really forgotten that I asked her to be my wife, but itwas a mere incident, and affected her no more than if I had asked her tobuy a picture and she had refused. I wish to goodness I had not met heragain. I had got fairly over it, and was even beginning to wonder how Iever could have wanted to marry anyone so different in every way fromthe sort of woman I fancied I should have fallen in love with. Howfoolish of her coming over to Paris at this time. Well, I daresay it hasall saved a lot of trouble. I suppose at that time Brander would havebeen delighted at the prospect, but it would have been a very differentthing after the failure of the bank. I don't think he would have made apleasant father-in-law under the present circumstances. He is an oldfox. I always thought so, and I think so more than ever now. It has beena queer affair altogether. I wonder what Mary thinks of it all. Isuppose she will talk to me about it to-morrow afternoon. By the way, Ihave to go this evening with Rene and the others to be sworn in orattested, or whatever they call it, at the Mairie. Their report as tothe officers is satisfactory. I have heard that Longfranc was anexcellent officer before he came into some money, cut the army and tookup art. I have no doubt he will make a good major, and he understandsthe men better than most army men would do. They say the Colonel is agood man, too, and was very popular with his regiment before he retiredfrom the service."