looked more
upright and supple.

"But you are becoming a handsome chap," the artist could not refrain
from exclaiming. "You are dressed like an ambassador, in the latest
style. Who's your model?"

Laurent, who felt the weight of the examination he was undergoing, did
not dare to abruptly take himself off.

"Will you come up to my studio for a moment?" he at last asked his
friend, who showed no signs of leaving him.

"Willingly," answered the latter.

The painter, who could not understand the change he noticed in his old
comrade, was anxious to visit his studio. He had no idea of climbing
five floors to gaze on the new pictures of Laurent, which assuredly
would disgust him; he merely wished to satisfy his curiosity.

When he had reached the studio, and had glanced at the canvases hanging
against the walls, his astonishment redoubled. They comprised five
studies, two heads of women, and three of men painted with real vigour.
They looked thick and substantial, each part being dashed off with
magnificent dabs of colour on a clear grey background. The artist
quickly approached, and was so astounded that he did not even seek to
conceal his amazement.

"Did you do those?" he inquired of Laurent.

"Yes," replied the latter. "They are studies that I intend to utilise in
a large picture I am preparing."

"Come, no humbug, are you really the author of those things?"

"Eh! Yes. Why should I not be the author of them?"

The painter did not like to answer what he thought, which was as
follows:

"Because those canvases are the work of an artist, and you have never
been anything but a vile bungler."

For a long time, he remained before the studies in silence. Certainly
they were clumsy, but they were original, and so powerfully executed
that they indicated a highly developed idea of art. They were life-like.
Never had this friend of Laurent seen rough painting so full of high
promise. When he had examined all the canvases, he turned to the author
of them and said:

"Well, frankly, I should never have thought you capable of painting like
that. Where the deuce did you learn to have talent? It is not usually a
thing that one acquires."

And he considered Laurent, whose voice appeared to him more gentle,
while every gesture he made had a sort of elegance. The artist had
no idea of the frightful shock this man had received, and which had
transformed him, developing in him the nerves of a woman, along with
keen, delicate