A certain native reticence made him uncomfortable as
he saw his heart's secret so carelessly handled, his passion
rent, torn to tatters, a young and unknown girl, whose life
seemed to be so modest, the victim of condemnation, right or
wrong, but pronounced with such reckless indifference. He
pretended to be moved by a spirit of contradiction, asking each
for proofs of his assertions, and their jests began again.
"But, my dear boy, have you seen the Baroness' shawl?" asked
Souchet.
"Have you ever followed the girl when she patters off to church
in the morning?" said Joseph Bridau, a young dauber in Gros'
studio.
"Oh, the mother has among other virtues a certain gray gown,
which I regard as typical," said Bixiou, the caricaturist.
"Listen, Hippolyte," the sculptor went on. "Come here at about
four o'clock, and just study the walk of both mother and
daughter. If after that you still have doubts! well, no one can
ever make anything of you; you would be capable of marrying your
porter's daughter."
Torn by the most conflicting feelings, the painter parted from
his friends. It seemed to him that Adelaide and her mother must
be superior to these accusations, and at the bottom of his heart
he was filled with remorse for having suspected the purity of
this beautiful and simple girl. He went to his studio, passing
the door of the rooms where Adelaide was, and conscious of a pain
at his heart which no man can misapprehend.
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