charming, dappling fragments and scattered them on the ground beneath. It was one of Beaulieu's favorite subjects, and Edward had tackled it more than once.
One day as he was starting to draw it for the third or fourth time Madame Beaulieu came to look on. She watched him for a minute or two and then suddenly she walked out in front of him and leaning toward the trunk of the old tree, turned, rested her hand on the great bole and faced him. She looked very charming in the dappled light.
"Is it to be a portrait?" Edward asked.
Madame nodded. "A surprise for father," she said. "Can it be done in one sitting?"
"In two," said Edward.
And in fact he finished the little open-air portrait in two sittings of two hours each. He had had some good luck, some happy accidents. It was the most likable thing he had ever done. He leaned back and saw that he had done all he could.
"Come and see how pretty you look," he said.
Madame Beaulieu came slowly forward from under the broken light of the tree and stood looking over his shoulder.
"Do I look like that—to you?" she asked.
"Yes," said Edward. "Just like that."
