t his friend's feet. And Blake, noting this, noted also
with an odd little sense of gratification, that Max's English was a
trifle more halting--a trifle more stilted for the break in their
companionship.

Still arm in arm, they passed down the sloping pathway to the gate,
where the children still played shrilly and the old Basque peasant still
drowsed over her rosary beads. As they passed her, Blake put his hand in
his pocket and slipped a silver coin into her fingers.

"They're so like my own people--these Basque peasants!" he said, by way
of excuse. "They always give me a warm feeling about the heart."

The old woman looked up surprised, and both were attracted by the
picture she made against the dark holly-trees--- the brown withered
face, the astonishingly bright eyes like the eyes of a bird, the spare,
bent figure with its scrupulous cleanliness of dress.

"The blessing of the good God rest upon you, monsieur!" she said,
solemnly. "And may He provide you with your heart's desire!"

"And for me, _bonne mere_?" Max broke in. "What for me?"

The small bright eyes scanned the young face thoughtfully. "The good
God, monsieur, will take you where He means that you should go!" Her
thin lips closed, and she fell again to the telling of her beads, her
inner vision doubtless weaving the scenes of her youth--the grave brown
hills and sounding sea of her native country.

"For the moment it would seem that the good God points a way to the
studio!" said Max, as they turned away. "_Mon ami_, I burn and tremble
at once! Suppose it is of no use--my picture?" He stopped suddenly by
the gate, to gaze with unpremeditated consternation at Blake; and Blake,
touched by the happy familiarity of the action, laughed aloud.

"The same Max!" he cried. "The same, same Max! It's like turning back to
the first page of my little book. Come along! I have spirit for anything
to-day--even to tell you that you've made a failure. Come along, boy!
It's a great world, when all's said and done! Come along! I'll race you
up the steps!"

Laughing like a couple of children, they ran up the Escalier de
Sainte-Marie, smiled upon indulgently by the careless passers-by, and
entering the house, the race was continued up the polished stairs.

At the door of the _appartement_ Max came level with Blake, his face
glowing with excitement, his laughter broken by quick breaths.

"Oh, Ned, no! No! You must not enter! I am to go first. I have arranged
it all