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"
But
isn
’
t
she
wonderful
?
I
tell
you
,
my
boy
,
lose
no
time
;
get
married
as
soon
as
ever
you
can
.
I
’
m
the
happiest
man
alive
.
Look
at
her
sitting
there
.
Doesn
’
t
she
make
a
picture
?
Chardin
,
eh
?
I
’
ve
seen
all
the
most
beautiful
women
in
the
world
;
I
’
ve
never
seen
anyone
more
beautiful
than
Madame
Dirk
Stroeve
.
"
"
If
you
don
’
t
be
quiet
,
Dirk
,
I
shall
go
away
.
"
"
Mon
petit
chou
"
,
he
said
.
She
flushed
a
little
,
embarrassed
by
the
passion
in
his
tone
.
His
letters
had
told
me
that
he
was
very
much
in
love
with
his
wife
,
and
I
saw
that
he
could
hardly
take
his
eyes
off
her
.
I
could
not
tell
if
she
loved
him
.
Poor
pantaloon
,
he
was
not
an
object
to
excite
love
,
but
the
smile
in
her
eyes
was
affectionate
,
and
it
was
possible
that
her
reserve
concealed
a
very
deep
feeling
.
She
was
not
the
ravishing
creature
that
his
love
-
sick
fancy
saw
,
but
she
had
a
grave
comeliness
.
She
was
rather
tall
,
and
her
gray
dress
,
simple
and
quite
well
-
cut
,
did
not
hide
the
fact
that
her
figure
was
beautiful
.
It
was
a
figure
that
might
have
appealed
more
to
the
sculptor
than
to
the
costumier
.
Her
hair
,
brown
and
abundant
,
was
plainly
done
,
her
face
was
very
pale
,
and
her
features
were
good
without
being
distinguished
.
She
had
quiet
gray
eyes
.
She
just
missed
being
beautiful
,
and
in
missing
it
was
not
even
pretty
.
But
when
Stroeve
spoke
of
Chardin
it
was
not
without
reason
,
and
she
reminded
me
curiously
of
that
pleasant
housewife
in
her
mob
-
cap
and
apron
whom
the
great
painter
has
immortalised
.
I
could
imagine
her
sedately
busy
among
her
pots
and
pans
,
making
a
ritual
of
her
household
duties
,
so
that
they
acquired
a
moral
significance
;
I
did
not
suppose
that
she
was
clever
or
could
ever
be
amusing
,
but
there
was
something
in
her
grave
intentness
which
excited
my
interest
.
Her
reserve
was
not
without
mystery
.
I
wondered
why
she
had
married
Dirk
Stroeve
.
Though
she
was
English
,
I
could
not
exactly
place
her
,
and
it
was
not
obvious
from
what
rank
in
society
she
sprang
,
what
had
been
her
upbringing
,
or
how
she
had
lived
before
her
marriage
.
She
was
very
silent
,
but
when
she
spoke
it
was
with
a
pleasant
voice
,
and
her
manners
were
natural
.
I
asked
Stroeve
if
he
was
working
.
"
Working
?
I
’
m
painting
better
than
I
’
ve
ever
painted
before
.
"
We
sat
in
the
studio
,
and
he
waved
his
hand
to
an
unfinished
picture
on
an
easel
.
I
gave
a
little
start
.
He
was
painting
a
group
of
Italian
peasants
,
in
the
costume
of
the
Campagna
,
lounging
on
the
steps
of
a
Roman
church
.
"
Is
that
what
you
’
re
doing
now
?
"
I
asked
.
