it must have been two or three
in the morning--Paragot burst into my little attic bedroom, candle in
hand, and before I had time to rub my startled eyes, sat down on the bed
and began to speak.

"My son," said he, "I have had an inspiration!"

Who but Paragot would have awakened a boy at two or three in the morning
to announce an inspiration? And who but Paragot would alter the course
of human lives on the flash of an impulse?

"It came," he cried, "while I was supping with Izelin. I told him. I
worked it all out. He agreed. So it is settled."

"What, Master?" I asked, sitting up. His slouch felt hat and his swarthy
bearded face, his glittering eyes and the candle on his knees gave him
the air of an excited Guy Fawkes.

"Your career, my son. The money I am going to collect in London shall be
devoted to your education. You shall learn to paint, infant Raphael and
Izelin shall teach you. And you shall learn the manners of a gentleman,
and Madame Izelin shall teach you. And you shall learn what it is to
have a heart, and if you care a hang for Paragot two years' separation
shall teach you."

"Two years!" I cried aghast. "But master I can't live two years here
without you!"

"We find we can live without a devil of a lot of things when we have to,
my son. When I smashed my furniture with the crusader's mace I thought I
could not live anywhere without--something. But here I am as alive as a
dragon-fly."

He went on talking. It was for my good. His broken ankle bone had
compelled him to resign his peripatetic tutorship in the University of
the Universe. In a narrower Academy he would be but a poor instructor.
If he had taught me to speak the truth and despise lies and shams, and
to love pictures and music and cathedrals and books and trees and all
beautiful things, _nom de Dieu!_ he had accomplished his mission. It was
time for other influences. When an inspiration such as tonight's came to
him he took it as a command from a Higher Power (I am convinced that he
believed it), against which he was powerless.

"Providence ordains that you stay here with the Izelins. Afterwards you
shall go to Janot's studio in Paris. In the meantime you can attend
classes in the humanities at Buda-Pesth."

"I can't understand the beastly language!" I grumbled.

"You will learn it, my son."

"No one ever speaks it out of Hungary," I contended.

"My son," said he, "the value of a man is often measured by his useless
and fantastic a