ng it one-third as
much as the big-hearted chap had suggested. Fairfax set July as the date
of payment, when his competitive money should come in. He borrowed just
enough to keep him in food and clothes for the following months.

There were no motors in Paris then. In the mornings he drove with Mrs.
Faversham to the Bois and limped by her side in the _allees_, whilst the
worldly people stared at the distinguished, conspicuous couple. One day
Barye himself stopped them, and to the big man Antony presented Mrs.
Faversham who did not happen to know her fiance's chief.

Fairfax looked at her critically as she laughed and was sweet and
gracious. Carriages filed past them; shining equipages, the froth and
wine of life flowed around them under the trees, whose chestnut torches
were lit with spring.

Barye said to Antony, "Not working, are you, Rainsford? _C'est
dommage_", and turning to Mrs. Faversham he added, nodding, "_C'est
dommage_."

Antony heard the words throughout the day, and they haunted him--_c'est
dommage_. Barye's voice had been light, but the sculptor knew the
underlying ring in it. There is, indeed, no greater pity than for a man
of talent not to work. That day he lunched with her on the terrace of
her hotel overlooking the rose garden. Fairfax ate scarcely anything.
Below his eyes spread a _parterre_ of perfect purple heliotropes. The
roses were beginning to bloom on their high trees, and the moist earth
odours from the garden he had thought so exquisite came to him
delicately on the warm breeze. But this day the place seemed oppressive,
shut in by its high iron walls. In the corner of the garden, the
gardener, an old man in blue overalls, bent industriously over his
potting, and to Antony he seemed the single worthy figure. At the table
he was surrounded by idlers and millionaires. He judged them bitterly
to-day, brutally and unreasonably, and hastily looked toward Mrs.
Faversham, his future life's companion, hoping that something in her
expression or in her would disenchant him from the growing horror that
was threatening to destroy his peace of mind. Mary Faversham was all in
white; from her ears hung the pearls given her by her husband, whom she
had never loved; around her neck hung a creamy rope of pearls; she was
discussing with her neighbour the rising value of different jewels. It
seemed to them both a vital and interesting subject.

It was the end of luncheon; the fragrance of the strawberries, t