res, he hastened to amend. "Yet, other masters, less facile, have
gained by study what they lacked by heritage."

The room was bare except for its accessories of art. A few
well-chosen casts hung about the walls. Many unmounted canvases were
stacked in the corners, the floors were chalk-marked where
easel-positions had been recorded; charcoal fragments crunched
underfoot when one walked across the boards. From the sky-light--for
the right of the building had only two floors--fell a flood of
afternoon light, filtering through accumulated dust and soot. The door
upon the outer hall was latched. The students, bizarre and unkempt in
the bohemianism of their cult, mixed colors on their palettes as they
listened. In their little world of narrow horizons, the discourse was
like a prophet's eulogy of a god.

As the master, his huge figure somewhat grotesque in its long,
paint-smeared blouse and cap, stood delivering his lecture with much
eloquence of gesture, he was interrupted by a rap on the door. Jacques
du Bois, whose easel stood nearest the threshold, reluctantly took his
pipe from his teeth, and turned the knob with a scowl for the
interruption. For a moment, he stood talking through the slit with a
gentleman in the hall-way, his eyes meanwhile studying with
side-glances the lady who stood behind the gentleman. Then, he bowed
and closed the door.

"Someone wishes a word with M. Hautecoeur," he announced.

The master stepped importantly into the hall, and Steele introduced
himself. M. Hautecoeur declared that he quite well remembered monsieur
and his excellent painting. He bowed to mademoiselle with unwieldly
gallantry.

"Mr. Robert Saxon," began the American, "is, I believe, one of the
most distinguished of the followers of Frederick Marston. Miss Filson
and I are both friends of Mr. Saxon, and, while in Paris, we wished to
visit the shrine of the Marston school. We have taken the liberty of
coming here. Is it possible to admit us?"

The instructor looked cautiously into the _atelier_, satisfied himself
that the model had not resumed her throne and nudity, then flung back
the door with a ceremonious sweep. Steele, familiar with such
surroundings, cast only a casual glance about the interior. It was
like many of the smaller schools in which he had himself painted. To
the girl, who had never seen a life-class at work, it was stepping
into a new world. Her eyes wandered about the walls, and came back to
the faces.