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THE TWO PORTRAITS.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.

"Es quelque lieu que soit cette figure adorable, quelque corps qui la porte, quelque main qui l'ait faite, elle aura tous vœux de mon cœur. Oui, ma seule folie est de discerner la beauté; mon seule crime est d'y être sensible. Il n'y a rien la dont je doive rougir."— (Pigmalion) J. J. ROUSSEAU.

In the Rue Saint Lazare, at the corner of the Rue Larochefoucald, there is a large, very fine-looking house, with its upper apartments so arranged, as to be admirably suited for the studio of a painter. It was at the gate of this very house that toward the middle of March in the past year, an elegant carriage was observed to draw up. The carriage door opened, and a young lady instantly descended from it. You could tell by the first glance that she was in second mourning. Her robe was of pearlish grey, and over it she wore a satin pelisse of the same color, bordered with chinchilla. There was, too, a black veil over her chapeau de soie blanche. In short, her dress displayed her wealth and her taste. Before quitting her carriage she had sent her footman to enquire if the painter M. Alfred Louval was at home, and if so to announce her. She was told that he was in his studio, at the top of the house. She proceeded thither, and as the Countess de Lucy was not much accustomed to this species of exercise, she mounted slowly, either to take breath, or to reflect upon the course that she should adopt. The lady was twenty-four years of age, she had a large fortune in her own right, and she was the widow of a Ministre Plenipotentiare.

While she was deliberating, she encountered the artist upon the stairs. He had descended to meet her, and stuttered out excuses that his profession compelled him to seek the best light. Surprised at this meeting, and still more surprised when she beheld the features of the gentleman, the Countess de Lucy remained perfectly silent, and mechanically followed the young gentleman, who seemed to be still more surprised, and even still more agitated, than the lady.

It is not, however, for any considerable length of time, that a woman can be deprived of her presence of mind, and thus it happened that no sooner was the Countess in the sitting-room of the artist, than she recovered her self-possession, and thus explained the object of her visit.

"The motive, sir," she said, "that has induced me to visit you is one that would very probably induce many other women to keep away from you. I have seen your works at the exhibition. You are, I perceive, the pupil of M. Ingres, and you tread in the footsteps of your master. I have seen your portraits of the Duchess de O.—-s, and the Countess N——, both of whom I know very well, and I was able to remark in their likenesses, even the minutest defects of the originals."

"I do not know, Madam, whether I am to interpret your words into an epigram or an eulogium."

"Do not take me, sir, as saying any thing else but what I think. In my eyes, a perfect resemblance constitutes the first merit of a portrait. You smile, and perhaps it is a heresy in the Catholic creed of painting. But then remember, that I speak as a woman, and do not pretend to judge as an artist. In fine, I am particularly glad to see my own features copied without any flattery, and with—all their imperfections."

"Imperfections! Madam I shall find it very difficult to discover them."

"A truce to compliments, sir; tell me, will your numerous occupations allow you to give me a few sittings?"

Louval replied that he was completely at the service of the Countess de Lucy; and that he would see her at her hotel any day she should choose to name. She then expressed a desire to see some of his pictures that had not been yet exhibited; and that she observed had all their canvas backs turned to the spectator. He turned the surface of them all but one. She praised all that she did see—and what delicious flattery was this for their author? At length she observed that there was the one not turned. She asked why it was not, and he seemed to be greatly embarrassed by the question.

"Is it," said she, " such a picture as that a lady ought not to look at it?"

"Not at all."

"Why, then, have you it so carefully concealed?"

"It is a more study-a study that I made for myself -for myself alone."

"That is to say, that no one else is worthy of looking at it."

"Ah! Madam do not think me guilty of such vanity."

During this short dialogue her servant, thinking it would gratify his mistress to see the picture, turned it round; but on seeing it, the Countess shrieked with amazement, and then in an angry tone she said to the painter—

"Tell me, sir, how come you to be the possessor of that portrait-a portrait of me, for which I never sat?"

"It is not your portrait," replied Louval, greatly agitated.

"You blush, sir. For pity sake tell me—explain to me—how or by what means it is you have caught my resemblance so exactly-you, that I believe, have never, until now, in all your life, seen me.”

"It is perfectly true, Madam, that until this day, I never had the honor of knowing you.”

"Cease, I pray you, this dissimulation. It does not very well become a man of honor, and, I trust, a gentleman."