I remembered, too, what had happened once when we were dining, of course at Mr. de Touraine's expense, in one of the most fashionable and expensive restaurants of the city! A beautiful and exquisitely gowned woman of a proud and even haughty bearing had swept in the salon, and the aristocratic Maitre of the restaurant had at once proceeded to bow her reverently to one of the best tables.
“Look, look,” had whispered Mr. de Touraine in an excited manner that was quite unusual with him, “that's Etienne Ramoutier, the great artist's model.” He sighed deeply. “Isn't she a lovely woman?”
“And she looks quite respectable, too,” had commented Madeline.
“Respectable!” had scowled her father. “I should think she is respectable! Why, she's as conventional and chaste as any woman can be. The king o
