e
first time he had set foot in the gay city since his youth. Many things
he saw had impressed him, and "Peter Ibbetson" was the result. How
interesting it was to watch him in Paris, the place of his birth,
standing, the ideal type of a Frenchman himself, smiling and as amused
as a boy at his own countrymen and women. "So very un-English, you
know!" Then, as we drove about Paris, he stood up in the carriage,
excitedly showing us places familiar to him in his young days, and
greatly amused us by pointing out no fewer than three different houses
in which he was born! We three were the guests of Mr. Staat Forbes at
Fontainebleau during the same trip, and du Maurier's sketches of our
pleasant experiences on that occasion appear in _Punch_, under the
heading "Souvenir de Fontainebleau," in three numbers in October, 1886.
In the drawing of our _al fresco_ dinner, "Smith" is our host, I am
"Brown," du Maurier "Jones," and Mr. Burnand "Robinson."

Three years afterwards du Maurier re-visited Paris with most of the
staff to see the Paris Exhibition, 1889. In my sketch "En Route--Mr.
Punch at Lunch," du Maurier is speaking to Mr. Anstey Guthrie, who, "for
this occasion only," called du Maurier the Marquis d'Ampstead.

Du Maurier had a little of the green-eyed monster in his bosom, although
he lived to laugh at all when he himself became the greatest success of
any man in his sphere.

When I made my hit with my Exhibition of the "Artistic Joke," du
Maurier, to my surprise, turned sharply round to me one night in the cab
and said, "My dear Furniss, I must be honest with you--I hate you, I
loathe you, I detest you!"

[Illustration: DU MAURIER'S SOUVENIR DE FONTAINEBLEAU.

_From "Punch."_]

"Thanks, awfully, my dear fellow! But why?"

"Ah!" he said, "your success is too great. When I get the return you
send me in the morning, showing me the number of people that have been
to your Exhibition, the tremendous takings at the turnstiles, the number
of albums subscribed for, the number of pictures you have sold, I cannot
work. I go on to Hampstead Heath to walk off my jealousy; when I come in
to lunch I find your first telegram, telling me you have made L80 that
morning. I walk out again, and looking down upon London, although I
shake my fist at the whole place, my wrath is for you alone. I come in
to tea to find another telegram--you have made L100! How can I sit down
and scratch away on a piece of paper when you are making a fort