The two strangers seemed to forget the painter's works in the
painter's mishap. When he had reassured them as to his condition
they left, looking at him with an anxiety that was equally free
from insistence and from familiarity, without asking any
indiscreet questions, or trying to incite him to any wish to
visit them. Their proceedings all bore the hall-mark of natural
refinement and good taste. Their noble and simple manners at
first made no great impression on the painter, but subsequently,
as he recalled all the details of the incident, he was greatly
struck by them.
When they reached the floor beneath that occupied by the
painter's studio, the old lady gently observed, "Adelaide, you
left the door open."
"That was to come to my assistance," said the painter, with a
grateful smile.
"You came down just now, mother," replied the young girl, with a
blush.
"Would you like us to accompany you all the way downstairs?"
asked the mother. "The stairs are dark."
"No, thank you, indeed, madame; I am much better."
"Hold tightly by the rail."
The two women remained on the landing to light the young man,
listening to the sound of his steps.
In order to set forth clearly all the exciting and unexpected
interest this scene might have for the young painter, it must be
told that he had only a few days since established his studio in
the attics of this house, situated in the darkest and, therefore,
the most muddy part of the Rue de Suresnes, almost opposite the
Church of the Madeleine, and quite close to his rooms in the Rue
des Champs-Elysees.
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