Chapter 7 IN THE STUDIO

　　7Staggering like a drunken man, Paul Violaine descended the stairs whenhis interview with Mascarin had been concluded. The sudden andunexpected good fortune which had fallen so opportunely at his feethad for the moment absolutely stunned him. He was now removed from aposition which had caused him to gaze with longing upon the stillwaters of the Seine, to one of comparative affluence. "Mascarin," saidhe to himself, "has offered me an appointment bringing in twelvethousand francs per annum, and proposed to give me the first month'ssalary in advance."Certainly it was enough to bewilder any man, and Paul was utterlydazed. He went over all the events that had occurred during the day--the sudden appearance of old Tantaine, with his loan of five hundredfrancs, and the strange man who knew the whole history of his life,and who, without making any conditions, had offered him a valuablesituation. Paul was in no particular hurry to get back to the Hotel dePerou, for he said to himself that Rose could wait. A feeling ofrestlessness had seized upon him. He wanted to squander money, and tohave the sympathy of some companions,--but where should he go, for hehad no friends? Searching the records of his memory, he rememberedthat, when poverty had first overtaken him, he had borrowed twentyfrancs from a young fellow of his own age, named Andre. Some goldcoins still jingled in his pocket, and he could have a thousand francsfor the asking. Would it not add to his importance if he were to goand pay this debt? Unluckily his creditor lived a long distance off inthe Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. He, however, hailed a passing cab, andwas driven to Andre's address. This young man was only a casualacquaintance, whom Paul had picked up one day in a small wine-shop towhich he used to take Rose when he first arrived in Paris. Andre, withwhose other name Paul was unacquainted, was an artist, and, inaddition, was an ornamental sculptor, and executed those wonderfuldecorations on the outside of houses in which builders delight. Thetrade is not a pleasant one, for it necessitates working at dizzyheights, on scaffolds that vibrate with every footstep, and exposesyou to the heat of summer and the frosts of winter. The business,however, is well paid, and Andre got a good price for his stonefigures and wreaths. But all the money he earned went in the study ofthe painter's art, which was the secret desire of his soul. He hadtaken a studio, and twice his pictures had been exhibited at the/Salon/, and orders began to come in. Many of his brother artistspredicted a glorious future for him. When the cab stopped, Paul threwthe fare to the driver, and asked the clean-looking portress, who waspolishing the brasswork on the door, if M. Andre was at home.

"He is, sir," replied the old woman, adding, with much volubility,"and you are likely to find him in, for he has so much work; but he issuch a good and quiet young man, and so regular in his habits! I don'tbelieve he owes a penny in the world; and as for drink, why he is aperfect Anchorite. Then he has very few acquaintances,--one younglady, whose face for a month past I have tried to see, but failed,because she wears a veil, comes to see him, accompanied by her maid.""Good heavens, woman!" cried Paul impatiently, "will you tell me whereto find M. Andre?""Fourth floor, first door to the right," answered the portress, angryat being interrupted; and as Paul ran up the stairs, she muttered, "Ayoung chap with no manners, taking the words out of a body's mouthlike that! Next time he comes, I'll serve him out somehow."Paul found the door, with a card with the word "Andre" marked upon itnailed up, and rapped on the panel. He heard the sound of a piece offurniture being moved, and the jingle of rings being passed along arod; then a clear, youthful voice answered, "Come in!"Paul entered, and found himself in a large, airy room, lighted by askylight, and exquisitely clean and orderly. Sketches and drawingswere suspended on the walls; there was a handsome carpet from Tunis,and a comfortable lounge; a mirror in a carved frame, which would havegladdened the heart of a connoisseur, stood upon the mantelpiece. Aneasel with a picture upon it, covered with a green baize curtain,stood in one corner. The young painter was in the centre of hisstudio, brush and palette in hand. He was a dark, handsome young man,well built and proportioned, with close-cut hair, and a curling beardflowing down over his chest. His face was full of expression, and theenergy and vigor imprinted upon it formed a marked contrast to theappearance of Mascarin's /protégé/. Paul noticed that he did not wearthe usual painter's blouse, but was carefully dressed in theprevailing fashion. As soon as he recognized Paul, Andre came forwardwith extended hand. "Ah," said he, "I am pleased to see you, for Ioften wondered what had become of you."Paul was offended at this familiar greeting. "I have had many worriesand disappointments," said he.

"And Rose," said Andre, "how is she--as pretty as ever, I suppose?""Yes, yes," answered Paul negligently; "but you must forgive me forhaving vanished so suddenly. I have come to repay your loan, with manythanks.""Pshaw!" returned the painter, "I never thought of the matter again;pray, do not inconvenience yourself."Again Paul felt annoyed, for he fancied that under the cloak ofassumed generosity the painter meant to humiliate him; and theopportunity of airing his newly-found grandeur occurred to him.

"It was a convenience to me, certainly," said he, "but I am all rightnow, having a salary of twelve thousand francs."He thought that the artist would be dazzled, and that the mention ofthis sum would draw from him some exclamations of surprise and envy.

Andre, however, made no reply, and Paul was obliged to wind up withthe lame conclusion, "And at my age that is not so bad.""I should call it superb. Should I be indiscreet in asking what youare doing?"The question was a most natural one, but Paul could not reply to it,as he was entirely ignorant as to what his employment was to be, andhe felt as angry as if the painter had wantonly insulted him.

"I work for it," said he, drawing himself up with such a strangeexpression of voice and feature that Andre could not fail to noticeit.

"I work too," remarked he; "I am never idle.""But I have to work very hard," returned Paul, "for I have not, likeyou, a friend or protector to interest himself in me."Paul, who had not a particle of gratitude in his disposition, hadentirely forgotten Mascarin.

The artist was much amused by this speech. "And where do you thinkthat a foundling, as I am, would find a protector?"Paul opened his eyes. "What," said he, "are you one of those?""I am; I make no secret of it, hoping that there is no occasion for meto feel shame, though there may be for grief. All my friends knowthis; and I am surprised that you are not aware that I am simply afoundling from the Hopital de Vendome. Up to twelve years of age I wasperfectly happy, and the master praised me for the knack I had ofacquiring knowledge. I used to work in the garden by day, and in theevening I wasted reams of paper; for I had made up my mind to be anartist. But nothing goes easily in this world, and one day the ladysuperintendent conceived the idea of apprenticing me to a tanner."Paul, who had taken a seat on the divan in order to listen, herecommenced making a cigarette; but Andre stopped him. "Excuse me; butwill you oblige me by not smoking?"Paul tossed the cigarette aside, though he was a little surprised, asthe painter was an inveterate smoker. "All right," said he, "butcontinue your story.""I will; it is a long one. I hated the tanner's business from the verybeginning. Almost the first day an awkward workman scalded me soseverely that the traces still remain." As he spoke he rolled up hisshirt sleeve, and exhibited a scar that covered nearly all one side ofhis arm. "Horrified at such a commencement, I entreated the ladysuperintendent, a hideous old woman in spectacles, to apprentice me tosome other trade, but she sternly refused. She had made up her mindthat I should be a tanner.""That was very nasty of her," remarked Paul.

"It was, indeed; but from that day I made up my mind, and I determinedto run away as soon as I could get a little money together. Itherefore stuck steadily to the business, and by the end of the year,by means of the strictest economy, I found myself master of thirtyfrancs. This, I thought, would do, and, with a bundle containing achange of linen, I started on foot for Paris. I was only thirteen, butI had been gifted by Providence with plenty of that strong will calledby many obstinacy. I had made up my mind to be a painter.""And you kept your vow?""But with the greatest difficulty. Ah! I can close my eyes and see theplace where I slept that first night I came to Paris. I was soexhausted that I did not awake for twelve hours. I ordered a goodbreakfast; and finding funds at a very low ebb, I started in search ofwork."Paul smiled. He, too, remembered /his/ first day in Paris. He wastwenty-two years of age, and had forty francs in his pocket.

"I wanted to make money--for I felt I needed it--to enable me topursue my studies. A stout man was seated near me at breakfast, and tohim I addressed myself.

" 'Look here,' said I, 'I am thirteen, and much stronger than I look.

I can read and write. Tell me how I can earn a living.'

"He looked steadily at me, and in a rough voice answered, 'Go to themarket to-morrow morning, and try if one of the master masons, who areon the lookout for hands, will employ you.' ""And you went?""I did; and was eagerly watching the head masons, when I perceived mystout friend coming toward me.

" 'I like the looks of you, my lad,' he said; 'I am an ornamentalsculptor. Do you care to learn my trade?'

"When I heard this proposal, it seemed as if Paradise was openingbefore me, and I agreed with enthusiasm.""And how about your painting?""That came later on. I worked hard at it in all my hours of leisure. Iattended the evening schools, and worked steadily at my art and otherbranches of education. It was a very long time before I ventured toindulge in a glass of beer. 'No, no, Andre,' I would say to myself,'beer costs six sous; lay the money by.' Finally, when I was earningfrom eighty to a hundred francs a week, I was able to give more timeto the brush."The recital of this life of toil and self-denial, so different fromhis own selfish and idle career, was inexpressibly mortifying to Paul;but he felt that he was called upon to say something.

"When one has talents like yours," said he, "success follows as amatter of course."He rose to his feet, and affected to examine the sketches on thewalls, though his attention was attracted to the covered picture onthe easel. He remembered what the garrulous old portress had saidabout the veiled lady who sometimes visited the painter, and thatthere had been some delay in admitting him when he first knocked. Thenhe considered, for whom had the painter dressed himself with suchcare? and why had he requested him not to smoke? From all these factsPaul came to the conclusion that Andre was expecting the lady's visit,and that the veiled picture was her portrait. He therefore determinedto see it; and with this end in view, he walked round the studio,admiring all the paintings on the walls, maneuvering in such a manneras to imperceptibly draw nearer to the easel.

"And this," said he, suddenly extending his hand toward the cover,"is, I presume, the gem of your studio?"But Andre was by no means dull, and had divined Paul's intention, andgrasped the young man's outstretched hand just as it touched thecurtain.

"If I veil this picture," said he, "it is because I do not wish it tobe seen.""Excuse me," answered Paul, trying to pass over the matter as a jest,though in reality he was boiling over with rage at the manner and toneof the painter, and considered his caution utterly ridiculous.

"At any rate," said he to himself, "I will lengthen out my visit, andhave a glimpse of the original instead of her picture;" and, with thisamiable resolution, he sat down by the artist's table, and commencedan apparently interminable story, resolved not to attend to any hintshis friend might throw out, who was glancing at the clock with theutmost anxiety, comparing it every now and then with his watch.

As Paul talked on, he saw close to him on the table the photograph ofa young lady, and, taking advantage of the artist's preoccupation,looked at it.

"Pretty, very pretty!" remarked he.

At these words the painter flushed crimson, and snatching away thephotograph with some little degree of violence, thrust it between theleaves of a book.

Andre was so evidently in a patina, that Paul rose to his feet, andfor a second or two the men looked into each other's eyes as twoadversaries do when about to engage in a mortal duel. They knew butlittle of each other, and the same chance which had brought themtogether might separate them again at any moment, but each felt thatthe other exercised some influence over his life.

Andre was the first to recover himself.

"You must excuse me; but I was wrong to leave so precious an articleabout."Paul bowed with the air of a man who accepts an apology which heconsiders his due; and Andre went on,--"I very rarely receive any one except my friends; but to-day I havebroken through my rule."Paul interrupted him with a magniloquent wave of the hand.

"Believe me, sir," said he, in a voice which he endeavoured to rendercutting and sarcastic, "had it not been for the imperative duty Ibefore alluded to, I should not have intruded."And with these words he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"The deuce take the impudent fool!" muttered Andre. "I was stronglytempted to pitch him out of the window."Paul was in a furious rage for having visited the studio with thekindly desire of humiliating the painter. He could not but feel thatthe tables had been turned upon himself.

"He shall not have it all his own way," muttered he; "for I will seethe lady," and not reflecting on the meanness of his conduct, hecrossed the street, and took up a position from which he could obtaina good view of the house where Andre resided. It was snowing; but Pauldisregarded the inclemency of the weather in his eagerness to act thespy.

He had waited for fully half an hour, when a cab drove up. Two womenalighted from it. The one was eminently aristocratic in appearance,while the other looked like a respectable servant. Paul drew closer;and, in spite of a thick veil, recognized the features he had seen inthe photograph.

"Ah!" said he, "after all, Rose is more to my taste, and I will getback to her. We will pay up Loupins, and get out of his horrible den."