going to be a great capitalist--a citizen of credit and renown. I'm
Mr. Nobody, of nowhere. Go in and win, my boy; you have my best
wishes. If I can scrape together enough money to buy myself a white
waistcoat and a decent coat, I'll be your best man; or some left-off
things of yours might do--we're about of a size, aren't we? You've
become tres bel homme, Bob, plutot bel homme que joli garcon, hein?
That's what women are fond of; English women especially. I'm nowhere
now, without my uniform and the rest. Is it still Skinner who builds
for you? Good old Skinner! Mes compliments!"

This simple little speech took a hidden weight off my mind and left
me very happy. I confided frankly to the good Barty that no Sally in
any alley had ever been more warmly adored by any industrious young
London apprentice than was Leah Gibson by me!

"Ca y est, alors! Je te felicite d'avance, et je garde mes larmes
pour quand tu seras parti. Allons diner chez Babet: j'ai soif de
boire a ton bonheur!"

Before I left we met an English artist he had known at the British
Museum--an excellent fellow, one Walters, who took him under his
wing, and was the means of his entering the atelier Troplong in the
Rue des Belges as an art student. And thus Barty began his art
studies in a proper and legitimate way. It was characteristic of him
that this should never have occurred to him before.

So when I parted with the dear fellow things were looking a little
brighter for him too.

All through the winter he worked very hard--the first to come, the
last to go; and enjoyed his studio life thoroughly.

Such readers as I am likely to have will not require to be told what
the interior of a French atelier of the kind is like, nor its
domestic economy; nor will I attempt to describe all the fun and the
frolic, although I heard it all from Barty in after-years, and very
good it was. I almost felt I'd studied there myself! He was a prime
favorite--"le Beau Josselin," as he was called.

He made very rapid progress, and had already begun to work in colors
by the spring. He made many friends, but led a quiet, industrious
life, unrelieved (as far as I know) by any of those light episodes
one associates with student life in Paris. His principal amusements
through the long winter evenings were the cafe and the brasserie,
mild ecarte, a game at billiards or dominoes, and long talks about
art and literature with the usual unkempt young geniuses of the
place and tim