Sometimes in their talks he would put the portrait aside, and fall to sketching for her--either to illustrate his memories of pictures, or things noticed in French life and landscapes.

And as the charcoal worked; as he forgot himself in hurried speech, and those remarks fell from him which are the natural outcome of a painter's experience, vivacious also and touched with literature; then her brown eyes would lighten and soften, and for once his mind would feel exultant that it moved with hers on equal terms--nay, that he was teacher and she taught.

Whenever there emerged in him the signs of that demonic something that makes greatness she would be receptive, eager, humble even.

But again his commoner, coarser side, his mere lack of breeding, would reappear; and she would fall back on her cold or gentle defensiveness.

Thus protected by what his wrath called 'airs,' she was a mystery to him, yet a mystery that tamed and curbed him.