He told her.
"Where does this Madame Moulton live?" she asked.
He told her that also. Then, with a dismissing wave of the hand, Sarah
bade him farewell. It was all over. He had survived! Boston would never
know.
The next day I received a note from Sarah Bernhardt, asking me if I would
allow her to make a bust of _la charmante petite fille_. I answered that I
should be delighted. Then came another note telling me at what time
_l'enfant_ should come for the first sitting.
I took Nina to the studio, which was beyond the Boulevard de Courcelles in
a courtyard. It was enchanting to watch the artist at work. She was
dressed like a man: she wore white trousers and jacket, and a white
_foulard_ tied artistically about her head. She had short and frizzly
hair, and she showed us how she did it, gathering the four corners as if
it were a handkerchief, with the ends sticking up on the top of her head.
She smoked cigarettes all the time she was working.
She posed Nina in the attitude she thought interesting, with head down and
eyes up--a rather tiring position. And to keep _l'enfant_ quiet she
devised all sorts of things. Sometimes she would rehearse her rôles in the
voice they speak of as golden; because it coins gold for her, I suppose.
The rehearsing of her rôles was not so amusing, as there were no
_répliques_; but what kept Nina most quiet was when Sarah told her of the
album she was making for her. Every artist she knew was working at some
offering, and when it would be finished Nina was to have it. She would
expatiate for hours on the smallest details. Meissonier, for instance, was
painting a water-color, a scene of the war: a German regiment attacking a
French inn, which was being defended by French soldiers. Then Gounod was
writing a bit of music dedicated to _la charmante modèle_, and so forth.
Nina would listen with open mouth and glistening eyes, and at every
sitting she would say, "Et mon album?" expecting each time to see it
forthcoming. But it never came forth. It only existed in Madame
Bernhardt's fertile brain. It had no other object than to keep the model
still. It seemed cruel to deceive the child. Even to the last, when Nina
had said for the last time, "And shall I have my album to-day?" Sarah
answered that it was not _quite_ ready, as the binding was not
satisfactory, and other tales, which, if not true, had the desired effect,
and she finished the bust. It was not a very good likeness, but a very
pretty artistic effort, and was sent to the next Exposition, receiving
"honorable mention," perhaps more honorable than we mentioned her at home.
She gave me a duplicate of it made of terra-cotta.
Don't expect any more letters, for I shall be very busy before my
departure for America, which is next week, and then I shall.... Well,
wait!
Good-by.