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“I have said, and I still tell you the truth. It is not at all a portrait. It is the study of a Madonna, that I have made after a picture of the Italian school”

“But the costume is modern.”

It is pure invention.”

There appeared to be such perfect candor in the manner of Louval, that the Countess began to think she had wronged him when she thought of asking, where the original of his study was to he found.

“In Paris itself,” answered Louval: “It is in the museum of M. Aguado; and you can yourself ascertain the truth of my assertion.”

The young portrait painter then assured the lady, that this museum, now one of the finest in the world, was open to the public every Wednesday and Friday, and that as she had expressed a doubt of his assertion, he would be happy in waiting on her next day, in order that be might see, that with her own eyes she could be convinecd of the truth of his asrcrtion, Now, there would be some rashness in affirming that this pretext for paying a visit, appeared to the Countess a very plausible one, but this it is sufficient to know, that the offer of M. Louval was not rejected. She seemed ill at case, and soon left the artist's studio followed by her servant. Upon her return to her hotel she directed the strictest inquiries to be made as to the conduct, morals, manners, and family of Louval, and the result wos that she learned he was a young man universally respected, that he was admitted into the best society in Paris, that his family were respectable, and many of its members had acquired a high name in different professions, Why did the Countess make these inquiries} Was it because she had promised to go to a museum in company with an artist?

Then, on the other hand, Louval was so taken up with the visit that he had just received, and particularly with his appointment for the next day, that he left his studio in haste, and immediately set on foot inquiries: respecting the Countess de Lucy. He learned that she was the daughter of an old general of the Emperor's —that she was now more than a year left a widow, by the Count de Lucy, who had died in a foreign country, where he filled a high diplomatic office—that the Countess had passed the entire time of her mourning in retirement. These facts explained to the young painter why he had never seen the Countess de Lucy; but there were a great many other facts that he did not know, and that he was destined to be acquainted with.

We might dilate, if we chose, upon the visit paid by the Countess and the painter to the Museum of M. Aguado, It is sufficient to say that there the Countess saw the Madonna of Andrea del Sarte; she saw enough of resemblance in features to herself, to prove that the artist had been telling her truth. After some interviews she told him, that she desired a proof of his skill in making ancient saints look like persons now living, and to his astonishment she showed him the portrait of a Spanish monk, in an attitude of the most fervent prayer, and the Spanish saint he at once saw had some resemblance to himself.

“Draw for me,” said she, “from this, your own likeness; and if success crown your efforts, then I will be convinced, that you have not invented a fable for the purpose of justifying, in my eyes, your illegitimate possession of my portrait.”

“I submit myself to your will, Madam,” replied M. Louval,—“and may my obedience be to me as if it were inspiration.”

When the work was finished, it obtained the approbation, without the slightest reserve, of the Countess de Lucy. “He may know his own face thoroughly well,” said the Countess, “from having so often looked at it— but how could he have divined mine. There is certainly predestination in it.” And this suggestion made the Countess think a great deal. As to Louval he did not know how to speak or to be silent, In his perplexity, he retained a declaration that was on his lips, and to take him from his embarrassments, he eagerly pressed upon the lady permission to commence her portrait But, notwithstanding, she declined doing so for a fortnight to come.

During that interval love was making rapid progress in the heart of Louval, and the Countess felt that the artist was not indifferent to her. Such were their mutual feelings when the lady’s portrait was begun— but never yet was painter slower in his work. He had always something to alter—something to amend—something to change—and, at length, the Countess somewhat maliciously said to him—

“You are going on very well; but still you do not surpass—perhaps you do not equal, that study picture of yours, which you began and finished as if it were at a glance.”

“I agree with you, Madam. The work that I then regarded as the mere production of chance, I am now disposed to attribute to destiny. Know, then, that when I first saw the Madonna of Andrea del Sarto, I was seized with an involuntary trembling, and I cried out— ‘Here in the very type of the female who is to decide my fate,’ and never did I enjoy repose but until my hand had traced, after the same manner, that delicious head, the portrait that you considered as yours. A new Pygmalion, I became enchanted with my own work— and, like him, I have, too, seen it animated with the breath of life, when you appeared before me. But this thought disturb my reason—pardon, Madam, pardon an unhappy-—”

“I excuse you, and I thoroughly comprehend you,” replied the Countess with emotion. “All is now

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