Strong as Death | Page 6

their nature. In a
few months all the distinguished women in Paris solicited the favor of
being reproduced by his brush. He was hard to please, and made them
pay well for that favor.
After he had become the rage, and was received everywhere as a man
of the world he saw one day, at the Duchesse de Mortemain's house, a

young woman in deep mourning, who was just leaving as he entered,
and who, in this chance meeting in a doorway, dazzled him with a
charming vision of grace and elegance.
On inquiring her name, he learned that she was the Comtesse de
Guilleroy, wife of a Normandy country squire, agriculturist and deputy;
that she was in mourning for her husband's father; and that she was
very intellectual, greatly admired, and much sought after.
Struck by the apparition that had delighted his artist's eye, he said:
"Ah, there is some one whose portrait I should paint willingly!"
This remark was repeated to the young Countess the next day; and that
evening Bertin received a little blue-tinted note, delicately perfumed, in
a small, regular handwriting, slanting a little from left to right, which
said:
"MONSIEUR:
"The Duchesse de Mortemain, who has just left my house, has assured
me that you would be disposed to make, from my poor face, one of
your masterpieces. I would entrust it to you willingly if I were certain
that you did not speak idly, and that you really see in me something
that you could reproduce and idealize.
"Accept, Monsieur, my sincere regards.
"ANNE DE GUILLEROY."
He answered this note, asking when he might present himself at the
Countess's house, and was very simply invited to breakfast on the
following Monday.
It was on the first floor of a large and luxurious modern house in the
Boulevard Malesherbes. Traversing a large salon with blue silk walls,
framed in white and gold, the painter was shown into a sort of boudoir
hung with tapestries of the last century, light and coquettish, those

tapestries /a la Watteau/, with their dainty coloring and graceful figures,
which seem to have been designed and executed by workmen dreaming
of love.
He had just seated himself when the Countess appeared. She walked so
lightly that he had not heard her coming through the next room, and
was surprised when he saw her. She extended her hand in graceful
welcome.
"And so it is true," said she, "that you really wish to paint my portrait?"
"I shall be very happy to do so, Madame."
Her close-fitting black gown made her look very slender and gave her a
youthful appearance though a grave air, which was belied, however, by
her smiling face, lighted up by her bright golden hair. The Count
entered, leading by the hand a little six-year-old girl.
Madame de Guilleroy presented him, saying, "My husband."
The Count was rather short, and wore no moustache; his cheeks were
hollow, darkened under the skin by his close-shaven beard. He had
somewhat the appearance of a priest or an actor; his hair was long and
was tossed back carelessly; his manner was polished, and around the
mouth two large circular lines extended from the cheeks to the chin,
seeming to have been acquired from the habit of speaking in public.
He thanked the painter with a flourish of phrases that betrayed the
orator. He had wished for a long time to have a portrait of his wife, and
certainly he would have chosen M. Olivier Bertin, had he not feared a
refusal, for he well knew that the painter was overwhelmed with orders.
It was arranged, then, with much ceremony on both sides, that the
Count should accompany the Countess to the studio the next day. He
asked, however, whether it would not be better to wait, because of the
Countess's deep mourning; but the painter declared that he wished to
translate the first impression she had made upon him, and the striking
contrast of her animated, delicate head, luminous under the golden hair,

with the austere black of her garments.
She came, then, the following day, with her husband, and afterward
with her daughter, whom the artist seated before a table covered with
picture-books.
Olivier Bertin, following his usual custom, showed himself very
reserved. Fashionable women made him a little uneasy, for he hardly
knew them. He supposed them to be at once immoral and shallow,
hypocritical and dangerous, futile and embarrassing. Among the
women of the demi-monde he had had some passing adventures due to
his renown, his lively wit, his elegant and athletic figure, and his dark
and animated face. He preferred them, too; he liked their free ways and
frank speech, accustomed as he was to the gay and easy manners of the
studios and green-rooms he frequented. He went into