an interesting thing, but
"copy." He was, in fact, preparing a certain article which, as he said
to himself, would "make 'em sit up" in London and New York. He had
found out Gaston's history, had read his speech in the Commons, had seen
paragraphs speculating as to where he was; and now he, Salem Meyerbeer,
would tell them what the wild fellow was doing. The Bullier, the
cafes in the Latin Quarter, apartments in a humble street, dining for
one-franc-fifty, supping with actresses, posing for the King of Ys with
that actress in his arms--all excellent in their way. But now there was
needed an entanglement, intrigue, amour, and then America should shriek
at his picture of one of the British aristocracy, and a gentleman of the
Commons, "on the loose," as he put it.

He would head it:

"ARISTOCRAT, POLITICIAN, LIBERTINE!"

Then, under that he would put:

"CAN THE ETHIOPIAN CHANGE HIS SKIN, OR THE
LEOPARD HIS SPOTS?" Jer. xi. 23.

The morality of such a thing? Morality only had to do with ruining a
girl's name, or robbery. How did it concern this?

So Mr. Meyerbeer kept his ears open. Presently one of the students said
to Bagshot, a young artist: "How does the dompteuse come on?"

"Well, I think it's chic enough. She's magnificent. The colour of her
skin against the lions was splendid to-day: a regular rich gold with a
sweet stain of red like a leaf of maize in September. There's never been
such a Una. I've got my chance; and if I don't pull it off,

'Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket,
And say a poor buffer lies low!'"

"Get the jacket ready," put in a young Frenchman, sneering.

The Englishman's jaw hardened, but he replied coolly

"What do you know about it?"

"I know enough. The Comte Ploare visits her."

"How the devil does that concern my painting her?" There was iron in
Bagshot's voice.

"Who says you are painting her?"

The insult was conspicuous. Gaston quickly interposed. His clear strong
voice rang down the table: "Will you let me come and see your canvas
some day soon, Mr. Bagshot? I remember your picture 'A Passion in the
Desert,' at the Academy this year. A fine thing: the leopard was free
and strong. As an Englishman, I am proud to meet you."

The young Frenchman stared. The quarrel had passed to a new and
unexpected quarter. Gaston's large, solid body, strong face, and
penetrating eyes were not to be sneered out of sight. The Frenchman, an
envious,