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Rh "How do you live there? Tell me."

"We are both living on the money we had left us."

"I know how much that is. There were heavy debts. You did not receive much: not enough to dress as you are dressed. . . . Emilie, if you care for me at all, tell me everything frankly. I am not inquisitive, but I am fond of you, fond of all of you; and I take an interest in all of you. You can't live on the money you came into from your father."

"I work, Auntie."

"In Paris? What at? What do you do?"

"I paint. I paint fans . . . and screens. You know I have a bit of a gift that way. I paint them with a good deal of chic. People in Holland wouldn't care for the way I do them. But in Paris I sell them for twenty francs, fifty francs: my screens fetch a hundred francs. I turn them out in half an hour. They have something about them, I don't know what: chic, I suppose, that's all. But I sell them: they are quite nice."

"I see nothing against that, child."

"I've been very lucky with them, Auntie. I've brought a screen with me for Granny . . . one for you too . . . and a fan for Aunt Lot. . . . They're presents: I knock them off in a moment. It's not art exactly, but chic rather, actual chic. . . ."

And her delicate little fingers outlined a delicate