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Updated: July 5, 2025
"You don't think I'm so bad, Eugene, do you?" she asked after a moment. "You don't think it makes so much difference whether I talk to Madame Bourgoche? She isn't so dull. She's awfully smart. You just haven't talked to her. She says she can tell by looking at you that you're a great artist. You're different. You remind her of a Mr. Degas that once lived here. Was he a great artist?"
Because she was naturally of a domestic turn Angela became very intimate with Madame Bourgoche and learned of her a hundred and one little tricks of domestic economy and arrangement. "You're a peculiar girl, Angela," Eugene once said to her. "I believe you would rather sit down stairs and talk to that French-woman than meet the most interesting literary or artistic personage that ever was.
"Was he!" said Eugene. "Well I guess yes. Did he have this studio?" "Oh, a long time ago fifteen years ago." Eugene smiled beatifically. This was a great compliment. He could not help liking Madame Bourgoche for it. She was bright, no doubt of that, or she would not be able to make such a comparison.
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