o his own feelings.

"What are you over here for, Rainsford?" asked the Westerner.

"I am a sculptor."

"Delightful!" exclaimed his companion. "Where are you going to work?
With Carrier-Belleuse or Rude?"

"Ah, I don't know--I don't know where I can go or what I can do."

His companion, with an understanding nod, said, "Didn't bring over a
gold-mine with you, perhaps?"

As he said this he laughed, extended both his hands and jumped up from
his seat.

"I like you exceedingly," he exclaimed heartily. "The governor had
telegraphed me to go to the devil and I thought I'd take his advice. The
little supper I was giving last night was to say good-bye to a
hundred-franc note, some money that I won at poker. I might have paid
some of this hotel bill, but I didn't. I wish you had been there,
Rainsford! But, never mind, you had the afterglow anyway! No," he
laughed, "let us surprise them at home. I don't quite know how, but
let's surprise them."

Fairfax shook his head as though he didn't quite understand.

"Is there no one who thinks you an insane fool for going in for art?
Nobody that your success will be gall to?"

"No, I'm all alone."

"Come," urged the other, too excited to see the sadness on his
companion's face. "Come, isn't there some one who will cringe when your
statues are unveiled?"

"Stop!" cried Fairfax eagerly.

"Come on then," cried the boy; "whoever it may be, your enemy or my
stepfather--we will surprise them yet!"

CHAPTER VI

In January of the following year he leaned out of the window and smelled
Paris, drank it in, penetrated by its fragrance and perfume. He saw the
river milkily flowing between the shores, the stones of the quay
parapet, the arches of the bridges, the wide domain of roofs and towers.

The Sacre-Coeur on Montmartre had not yet begun to rise, though they
were laying its foundation stones, and his eyes travelled, as they
always did, through the fog to the towers of Notre-Dame with its black,
mellow front and its melancholy beauty. The bourdon of the bells smote
sympathetically through him. No matter what his state of mind might be,
Paris took him out of himself, and he adored it.

He was looking upon the first of the winter mists. The first grey
mystery had obscured the form of the city. Paris had a new seduction. He
could not believe now that he had not been born in France and been
always part of the country he had adopted by temperament and spirit.
Like all art