was no difficulty in this, for a man of taste and wealth can find a
ready excuse for visiting the studio of a struggling artist. He had no
fixed plan as to what he would say or do, he left all to chance, and
with this decision he went to bed, and by two in the afternoon he drove
straight to the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne.

Andre's discreet portress was as usual leaning on her broom in the
gallery as M. de Breulh's magnificent equipage drew up.

"Gracious me!" exclaimed the worthy woman, dazzled by the gorgeousness
of the whole turnout; "he can't be coming here, he must have mistaken
the house."

But her amazement reached its height when M. de Breulh, on alighting,
asked for Andre.

"Fourth story, first door to the right," answered the woman; "but I will
show you the way."

"Don't trouble yourself;" and with these words M. de Breulh ascended the
staircase that led to the painter's studio and knocked on the door. As
he did so, he heard a quick, light step upon the stairs, and a young
and very dark man, dressed in a weaver's blouse and carrying a tin pail
which he had evidently just filled with water from the cistern, came up.

"Are you M. Andre?" asked De Breulh.

"That is my name, sir."

"I wish to say a few words to you."

"Pray come in," replied the young artist, opening the door of his studio
and ushering his visitor in. Andre's voice and expression had made
a favorable impression upon his visitor; but he was, in spite of his
having thrown aside nearly all foolish prejudices, a little startled at
his costume. He did not, however, allow his surprise to be visible.

"I ought to apologize for receiving you like this," remarked Andre
quickly, "but a poor man must wait upon himself." As he spoke, he threw
off his blouse and set down the pail in a corner of the room.

"I rather should offer my excuse for my intrusion," returned M. de
Breulh. "I came here by the advice of one of my friends;" he stopped for
an instant, endeavoring to think of a name.

"By Prince Crescensi, perhaps," suggested Andre.

"Yes, yes," continued M. de Breulh, eagerly snatching at the rope the
artist held out to him. "The Prince sings your praises everywhere,
and speaks of your talents with the utmost enthusiasm. I am, on his
recommendation, desirous of commissioning you to paint a picture for
me, and I can assure you that in my gallery it will have no need to be
ashamed of its companions."

Andre bowed, coloring deeply at the complim