r, "Good morning, Madame Francois."

The speaker was a slim young man, with big bones and a big head. His
face was bearded, and he had a very delicate nose and narrow sparkling
eyes. He wore on his head a rusty, battered, black felt hat, and was
buttoned up in an immense overcoat, which had once been of a soft
chestnut hue, but which rain had discoloured and streaked with
long greenish stains. Somewhat bent, and quivering with a nervous
restlessness which was doubtless habitual with him, he stood there in a
pair of heavy laced shoes, and the shortness of his trousers allowed a
glimpse of his coarse blue hose.

"Good morning, Monsieur Claude," the market gardener replied cheerfully.
"I expected you, you know, last Monday, and, as you didn't come, I've
taken care of your canvas for you. I've hung it up on a nail in my
room."

"You are really very kind, Madame Francois. I'll go to finish that study
of mine one of these days. I wasn't able to go on Monday. Has your big
plum tree still got all its leaves?"

"Yes, indeed."

"I wanted to know, because I mean to put it in a corner of the picture.
It will come in nicely by the side of the fowl house. I have been
thinking about it all the week. What lovely vegetables are in the market
this morning! I came down very early, expecting a fine sunrise effect
upon all these heaps of cabbages."

With a wave of the arm he indicated the footway.

"Well, well, I must be off now," said Madame Francois. "Good-bye for the
present. We shall meet again soon, I hope, Monsieur Claude."

However, as she turned to go, she introduced Florent to the young
artist.

"This gentleman, it seems, has just come from a distance," said she.
"He feels quite lost in your scampish Paris. I dare say you might be of
service to him."

Then she at last took her departure, feeling pleased at having left the
two men together. Claude looked at Florent with a feeling of interest.
That tall, slight, wavy figure seemed to him original. Madame Francois's
hasty presentation was in his eyes quite sufficient, and he addressed
Florent with the easy familiarity of a lounger accustomed to all sorts
of chance encounters.

"I'll accompany you," he said; "which way are you going?"

Florent felt ill at ease; he was not wont to unbosom himself so readily.
However, ever since his arrival in Paris, a question had been trembling
on his lips, and now he ventured to ask it, with the evident fear of
receiving an unfavourabl