_The curtains parting, disclose_ +Mme. Vigée Lebrun+ _and her little
daughter, behind a suitable frame, in the picture-pose. The
effect is as if the spectator, through a transparent wall, had
caught a glimpse of them in their living-room, a blank wall of
which forms their background._ +Mme. Lebrun+ _is gazing intently
toward the front, supposedly studying their reflection in a
looking-glass. Against her contentedly nestles_ +The Child+.
_Soon, satisfied with the result of her observation_, +Mme.
Lebrun+, _always behind the frame, reaches for painting materials
that lie beyond the scene, and prepares to work on a small study
for the picture she is projecting. Suddenly the sound of distant
firing is heard. She pauses, brush in hand. When the firing
is followed by a rough shout of triumph, and a snatch of the
Marseillaise, she drops her brush and clasps_ +The Child+ _to her
bosom hard._
+The Child.+
What ails my mother, in yon looking-glass
Our portrait studying she trembles, turns white?
Why drops her brush whenever people pass,
Marching, hurrahing through the streets?... So tight
You clasp, it hurts!
[+Mme. Lebrun+ _caresses the_ +Child+ _soothingly, and, picking
up her brush, resumes work. Every now and then the distant
echoes of revolution are heard. Soon the_ +Child+ _speaks
again._]
How gay seems Paris! Guns
Firing! Who is the Saint whose fête with praise
Is being kept?
+Mme. Lebrun.+
Called by her red-capped sons
St. Liberty; her hymn the Marseillaise.
[_A slight pause._]
+The Child.+
This portrait, will you give it me to keep,
If still I stand and am, oh, very good?
+Mme. Lebrun.+
Perhaps some fairy, when you are asleep,
Will turn it into pretty frocks and food!
[_The_ +Child+ _laughs and claps her hands delightedly. There is
another pause during which_ +Mme. Lebrun+ _works._]
+The Child.+
King, Queen, why never go we now to see:
Louis the kind, fair Marie Antoinette?
+Mme. Lebrun.+
[_Trying to speak lightly._]
No more at Trianon or Tuileries,
Their new address have they not sent us yet!
[_There is another pause, during which a louder note of
revolution is heard, and a red flash as of flame is seen._
+Mme. Lebrun+ _listens anxiously, but as it dies away, resumes
work._]
+The Child.+
Know you the artist Madame Guillotine?
+Mme. Lebrun.+
Child!
[_Horrified._]
+The Child.+
[_Proud of imparting news._]
Aye! Commissioned by France, heard I said,
Soon will she execute our king and queen,
But not as did you, full-length, just the head!
[_A snatch of the Marseillaise again is heard._ +Mme. Lebrun+
_gives way to sudden, silent weeping._]
+The Child.+
Mother, dear, see, where on our portrait fell
Tears!
[_Distressed._]
Mother, let me kiss your tears away!
+Mme. Lebrun.+
[_Wiping eyes, and forcing cheerfulness._]
Aye, for I work in oils, not aquarelle!
[_Prepares to resume work._]
Come!
+The Child.+
First at counting-out suppose we play!
[+Mme. Lebrun’s+ _lips form the word “counting-out” as if this
held an ominous note, then lending herself to the child’s
humor, holds her again in the picture-pose, while together they
croon a little nursery rhyme._]
+Mme. Lebrun.+
Marguerite of Paris, lend me your slippers gray!
+The Child.+
And we will go to Paradise on this sunshiny day.
+Mme. Lebrun.+
Where we shall see the little birds that Jesus made of clay!
+The Child.+
Each evening in the chapel old he lights the candles, without doubt.
+Mme. Lebrun.+
Bread.
+The Child.+
Pipe.
+Mme. Lebrun.+
Bridge of gold.
+Together.+
The prettiest child goes _out_!
[_They kiss, then fall into silence, in the picture-attitude._]
[_The curtains close._]