It represented a woman of forty or thereabouts, with a yellowface, very long and disproportionately large for the frail, sicklybody it surmounted, and dressed in an unpretending black gown.
She wore a sad, submissive look. Her grey eyes bespoke a contriteand fearful heart, the cheeks were pendulous and the loose chinalmost touched the bosom. Jean scrutinized the poor, pitifulface, but could recall no memory in connection with it. He openedthe letter and read:
"_Commune of Paris--General Staff_.
"Order to deliver to the citizen Jean Servien the portrait of Madame Bargemont.
"Tudesco.
"Colonel commanding the Subterranean Ways of the Commune."Jean wanted to ask the National Guards what it all meant, butalready the cab was driving off, bayonets protruding from bothwindows. The passers-by, who had long ceased to be surprised atanything, cast a momentary glance after the retreating vehicle.
Jean, left alone with Madame Bargemont's portrait before him,began to ask himself why his disconcerting friend Tudesco hadsent it to him.
"The wretch," he told himself, "must have arrested Bargemont andsacked his apartments."Meantime Madame Bargemont was gazing at him with a martyr's hauntingeyes. She looked so unhappy that Jean was filled with pity.
"Poor woman!" he ejaculated, and turning the canvas face to thewall, he left the house.
Presently the bookbinder returned to his work and, though anythingbut an inquisitive man, was tempted to look at this big picturethat blocked up his shop. He scratched his head, wondering ifthis could be the actress his son was in love with. He opined shemust be mightily taken with the young man to send him so largea portrait in so handsome a frame. He could not see anything tocapture a lover's fancy.
"At any rate," he thought, "she does not look like a bad woman."