M.Paul Emanuel (it was he) returned from Rome, and now a travelled man, was not likely to be less tolerant of insubordination now, than before this added distinction laurelled his temples.
"Permit me to conduct you to your party," said he, as we crossed the room.
"I have no party." "You are not alone ?" "Yes, Monsieur." "Did you come here unaccompanied ?" "No, Monsieur.

Dr.Bretton brought me here." "Dr.Bretton and Madame his mother, of course ?" "No; only Dr.Bretton." "And he told you to look at _that_ picture ?" "By no means; I found it out for myself." M.Paul's hair was shorn close as raven down, or I think it would have bristled on his head.

Beginning now to perceive his drift, I had a certain pleasure in keeping cool, and working him up.
"Astounding insular audacity!" cried the Professor.

"Singulieres femmes que ces Anglaises!" "What is the matter, Monsieur ?" "Matter! How dare you, a young person, sit coolly down, with the self-possession of a garcon, and look at _that_ picture ?" "It is a very ugly picture, but I cannot at all see why I should not look at it." "Bon! bon! Speak no more of it.

But you ought not to be here alone." "If, however, I have no society--no _party_, as you say?
And then, what does it signify whether I am alone, or accompanied?
nobody meddles with me." "Taisez-vous, et asseyez-vous la--la!"-- setting down a chair with emphasis in a particularly dull corner, before a series of most specially dreary "cadres." "Mais, Monsieur ?" "Mais, Mademoiselle, asseyez-vous, et ne bougez pas--entendez-vous ?--jusqu'a ce qu'on vienne vous chercher, ou que je vous donne la permission." "Quel triste coin!" cried I, "et quelles laids tableaux!" And "laids," indeed, they were; being a set of four, denominated in the catalogue "La vie d'une femme." They were painted rather in a remarkable style--flat, dead, pale, and formal.