word thrilled him through and through.

At a small table out of doors he ordered "boeuf a la mode" and "pommes
de terre." It seemed agreeable to speak French again and his soft Creole
accent charmed the ear of the waiter who bent smiling to take his order.

Antony watched with interest the scene around him; those about him
seemed to be good-humoured, contented travellers on the road of life.
There was a neat alacrity about the waiters in their white aprons.

A girl with a bouquet of roses came up to him. Antony gave her a sou and
in exchange she gave him a white rose.

"Thank you, Monsieur the Englishman."

He had never tasted steak and potatoes like these. He had never tasted
red wine like this. And it cost only a franc! He ordered his coffee and
smoked and mused in the bland June light.

He was happier than he had been for many a long day.

* * * * *

Eventful, tremulous, terrible and expressive, his past lay behind him on
another shore. He felt as though he were about to seek his fortune for
the first time.

As soon as Rainsford's generous gift became his own, the possession of
his little fortune, even at such a tragic price, made a new man of
Fairfax. He magnified its power, but it proved sufficient to buy him a
gentlemanly outfit, the ticket to France, and leave him a little
capital.

His plans unfolded themselves to him now, as he sat musing before the
restaurant. He would study in the schools with Cormon or Julian. He had
brought with him his studies of Molly--he would have them criticized by
the great masters. All Paris was before him. The wonders of the
galleries, whose masterpieces were familiar to him in casts and
photographs, would disclose themselves to him now. He would see the
Louvre, Notre Dame de Paris....

His spirits rose as he touched the soil of France. Now Paris should be
his mistress, and art should be his passion!

* * * * *

His ticket took him second-class on a slow train and he found a seat
amongst the humble travelling world; between a priest and a soldier, he
smoked his cigarettes and offered them to his companions, and watched
the river flowing between the poplars, the fields red with poppies,
yellow with wheat. The summer light shining on all shone on him through
the small window of the carriage, and though it was sunset it seemed to
Fairfax sunrise. The hour grew late. The darkness fell and the motion of
the car