oint of
view. You see, one can never tell what goes to the making of a
first-class success. An inferior person often achieves it, a genius as
often as not misses it."

He did not mention names, but Nello guessed, while he was speaking,
Degraux had the great Bauquel in mind, who, he admitted, was the
inferior artist.

The young man looked a little downcast, in spite of his stoicism.
Degraux clapped him on the shoulder.

"Now, my young friend, cheer up. After all, you are not doing so
badly. Live as frugally as you can, put by every penny you can save.
If things go well, still save. If they go badly, you will have
something put by. You remember our last conversation here, eh? I told
you to join, as quickly as possible, the ranks of the exploiters
instead of remaining in the vast army of the exploited."

Nello remembered that conversation well. Degraux's advice had made a
great impression on him at the time.

"That is precisely what I am here for, Monsieur--to ask you to give me
a little more of your valuable advice on a very important matter. I am
not at all sure about the rewards of the simply artistic career."

"Tell me what is in your mind," answered Degraux kindly. It was not
the first time in his long and brilliant career that he had been
called upon to act as the arbiter of a young man's destiny.

Nello told him of the note addressed to himself, of the letter
directed to the Baron Salmoros, whom Peron apparently claimed as an
old and attached friend.

Degraux elevated his eyebrows at the mention of that world-known name.

"Salmoros! One of the greatest of European financiers. He knows the
secrets of pretty well every Cabinet," he remarked, when the young man
had finished his narrative. "Your old Papa Peron must, at some time,
have been a person of more than ordinary distinction. You have no
knowledge of the contents of that sealed letter?"

"None, Monsieur. I can only guess that I have been recommended to the
Baron's protection."

"Of course," said Degraux. "It is a pity this very kind old man was
not a little bit more communicative before his death, or in his last
letter to you."

"I think he was a little fond of mystery, Monsieur."

"Evidently," said Degraux drily. "Possibly, when you knew him--you
told me the acquaintance was very brief--he had begun to go a little
off his head. Well, let us see how the matter stands. On the one side,
satisfaction with your present lot, with all the possibilities