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to the pictures of genre which pour into all our exhibitions in such
prodigious quantity that they might be supposed to be produced by
machinery。 As to the portrait； few artists have forgotten that
lifelike work； and the public； which as a body is sometimes
discerning； awarded it the crown which Girodet himself had hung over
it。 The two pictures were surrounded by a vast throng。 They fought for
places； as women say。 Speculators and moneyed men would have covered
the canvas with double napoleons； but the artist obstinately refused
to sell or to make replicas。 An enormous sum was offered him for the
right of engraving them； and the print…sellers were not more favored
than the amateurs。
Though these incidents occupied the world； they were not of a nature
to penetrate the recesses of the monastic solitude in the Rue Saint…
Denis。 However； when paying a visit to Madame Guillaume； the notary's
wife spoke of the exhibition before Augustine； of whom she was very
fond； and explained its purpose。 Madame Roguin's gossip naturally
inspired Augustine with a wish to see the pictures； and with courage
enough to ask her cousin secretly to take her to the Louvre。 Her
cousin succeeded in the negotiations she opened with Madame Guillaume
for permission to release the young girl for two hours from her dull
labors。 Augustine was thus able to make her way through the crowd to
see the crowned work。 A fit of trembling shook her like an aspen leaf
as she recognized herself。 She was terrified； and looked about her to
find Madame Roguin； from whom she had been separated by a tide of
people。 At that moment her frightened eyes fell on the impassioned
face of the young painter。 She at once recalled the figure of a
loiterer whom； being curious； she had frequently observed； believing
him to be a new neighbor。
〃You see how love has inspired me；〃 said the artist in the timid
creature's ear； and she stood in dismay at the words。
She found supernatural courage to enable her to push through the crowd
and join her cousin； who was still struggling with the mass of people
that hindered her from getting to the picture。
〃You will be stifled！〃 cried Augustine。 〃Let us go。〃
But there are moments； at the Salon； when two women are not always
free to direct their steps through the galleries。 By the irregular
course to which they were compelled by the press； Mademoiselle
Guillaume and her cousin were pushed to within a few steps of the
second picture。 Chance thus brought them； both together； to where they
could easily see the canvas made famous by fashion； for once in
agreement with talent。 Madame Roguin's exclamation of surprise was
lost in the hubbub and buzz of the crowd； Augustine involuntarily shed
tears at the sight of this wonderful study。 Then； by an almost
unaccountable impulse； she laid her finger on her lips； as she
perceived quite near her the ecstatic face of the young painter。 The
stranger replied by a nod； and pointed to Madame Roguin； as a spoil…
sport； to show Augustine that he had understood。 This pantomime struck
the young girl like hot coals on her flesh； she felt quite guilty as
she perceived that there was a compact between herself and the artist。
The suffocating heat； the dazzling sight of beautiful dresses； the
bewilderment produced in Augustine's brain by the truth of coloring；
the multitude of living or painted figures； the profusion of gilt
frames； gave her a sense of intoxication which doubled her alarms。 She
would perhaps have fainted if an unknown rapture had not surged up in
her heart to vivify her whole being； in spite of this chaos of
sensations。 She nevertheless believed herself to be under the power of
the Devil； of whose awful snares she had been warned of by the
thundering words of preachers。 This moment was to her like a moment of
madness。 She found herself accompanied to her cousin's carriage by the
young man； radiant with joy and love。 Augustine； a prey to an
agitation new to her experience； an intoxication which seemed to
abandon her to nature； listened to the eloquent voice of her heart；
and looked again and again at the young painter； betraying the emotion
that came over her。 Never had the bright rose of her cheeks shown in
stronger contrast with the whiteness of her skin。 The artist saw her
beauty in all its bloom； her maiden modesty in all its glory。 She
herself felt a sort of rapture mingled with terror at thinking that
her presence had brought happiness to him whose name was on every lip；
and whose talent lent immortality to transient scenes。 She was loved！
It was impossible to doubt it。 When she no longer saw the artist；
these simple words still echoed in her ear； 〃You see how love has
inspired me！〃 And the throbs of her heart； as they grew deeper； seemed
a pain； her heated blood revealed so many unknown forces in her being。
She affected a severe headache to avoid replying to her cousin's
questions concerning the pictures； but on their return Madame Roguin
could not forbear from speaking to Madame Guillaume of the fame that
had fallen on the house of the Cat and Racket； and Augustine quaked in
every limb as she heard her mother say that she should go to the Salon
to see her house there。 The young girl again declared herself
suffering； and obtained leave to go to bed。
〃That is what comes of sight…seeing；〃 exclaimed Monsieur Guillaume〃a
headache。 And is it so very amusing to see in a picture what you can
see any day in your own street？ Don't talk to me of your artists！ Like
writers； they are a starveling crew。 Why the devil need they choose my
house to flout it in their pictures？〃
〃It may help to sell a few ells more of cloth；〃 said Joseph Lebas。
This remark did not protect art and thought from being condemned once
again before the judgment…seat of trade。 As may be supposed； these
speeches did not infuse much hope into Augustine； who； during the
night； gave herself up to the first meditations of love。 The events of
the day were like a dream； which it was a joy to recall to her mind。
She was initiated into the fears； the hopes； the remorse； all the ebb
and flow of feeling which could not fail to toss a heart so simple and
timid as hers。 What a void she perceived in this gloomy house！ What a
treasure she found in her soul！ To be the wife of a genius； to share
his glory！ What ravages must such a vision make in the heart of a girl
brought up among such a family！ What hopes must it raise in a young
creature who； in the midst of sordid elements； had pined for a life of
elegance！ A sunbeam had fallen into the prison。 Augustine was suddenly
in love。 So many of her feelings were soothed that she succumbed
without reflection。 At eighteen does not love hold a prism between the
world and the eyes of a young girl？ She was incapable of suspecting
the hard facts which result from the union of a loving woman with a
man of imagination； and she believed herself called to make him happy；
not seeing any disparity between herself and him。 To her the future
would be as the present。 When； next day； her father and mother
returned from the Salon； their dejected faces proclaimed some
disappointment。 In the first place； the painter had re