Chapter 3

The young ladies consented to return to the Avenue des Villiers; and
this time they found the celebrity of the future. He was smoking
cigarettes with a friend while coffee was served to the two gentlemen--
it was just after luncheon--on a vast divan covered with scrappy
oriental rugs and cushions; it looked, Francie thought, as if the artist
had set up a carpet-shop in a corner. He struck her as very pleasant;
and it may be mentioned without circumlocution that the young lady
ushered in by the vulgar American reporter, whom he didn't like and who
had already come too often to his studio to pick up "glimpses" (the
painter wondered how in the world he had picked HER up), this charming
candidate for portraiture rose on the spot before Charles Waterlow as a
precious model. She made, it may further be declared, quite the same
impression on the gentleman who was with him and who never took his eyes
off her while her own rested afresh on several finished and unfinished
canvases. This gentleman asked of his friend at the end of five minutes
the favour of an introduction to her; in consequence of which Francie
learned that his name--she thought it singular--was Gaston Probert. Mr.
Probert was a kind-eyed smiling youth who fingered the points of his
moustache; he was represented by Mr. Waterlow as an American, but he
pronounced the American language--so at least it seemed to Francie--as
if it had been French.

After she had quitted the studio with Delia and Mr. Flack--her father on
this occasion not being of the party--the two young men, falling back on
their divan, broke into expressions of aesthetic rapture, gave it to
each other that the girl had qualities--oh but qualities and a charm of
line! They remained there an hour, studying these rare properties
through the smoke of their cigarettes. You would have gathered from
their conversation--though as regards much of it only perhaps with the
aid of a grammar and dictionary--that the young lady had been endowed
with plastic treasures, that is with physical graces, of the highest
order, of which she was evidently quite unconscious. Before this,
however, Mr. Waterlow had come to an understanding with his visitors--it
had been settled that Miss Francina should sit for him at his first hour
of leisure. Unfortunately that hour hovered before him as still rather
distant--he was unable to make a definite appointment. He had sitters on
his hands, he had at least three portraits to finish before going to
Spain. He adverted with bitterness to the journey to Spain--a little
excursion laid out precisely with his friend Probert for the last weeks
of the spring, the first of the southern summer, the time of the long
days and the real light. Gaston Probert re-echoed his