. The crisp banknote was divided between the
two companions.

Fairfax ordered a suit of clothes on trust, a new pair of boots on
trust, and bought outright sundry necessaries for his appearance in the
world.

And Dearborn spent too much in making the studio decent, and bought an
outfit of writing materials, a wadded dressing-gown with fur collar and
deep pockets, the cast-off garment of some elegant rastaquouere, in a
second-hand clothing shop on the boulevard. He had no plans for
enjoying Paris. He philosophically looked at the cast-off shoes that had
gallantly limped with the two of them up and down the stairs and here
and there in the streets on such devious missions. If he should be
inclined to go out he would wear them. His slippers were his real
comfort. He devoted himself to the interior life and to his play. He had
the place to himself, and after a long day's work he would read or plan,
looking out on the quays and the Louvre, biting his fingers and weaving
new plots and making youthful reflections upon life.

In the evenings Fairfax would limp home. Five days of the week he went
to Barye's studio and worked for the master. Twice a week he went to the
Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. Just how his friend spent his time when he
was not in the studio Dearborn wondered vainly. The sculptor grew less
and less communicative, almost morose. Tony took to smoking countless
cigarettes and sitting in the corner of the big divan, his arms folded
across his chest, his eyes fixed on some object which Dearborn could not
see. He would listen, or appear to, whilst Dearborn read his play; or
draw for him the scenario for a new play; or the young man would read
aloud bits of verse or prose that he loved and found inspiring. And
Antony, more than once, could hear his own voice as he had declaimed
aloud to the little cousins on a winter's afternoon, "St. Agnes' Eve,
how bitter chill it was," or some other favourite repeated to shining
eyes and flushed attention. Very often what Dearborn read was neither
familiar nor distinguishable, for Fairfax was thinking about other
things. They were not always alone in the workroom. Dearborn had
friends, and those of them who had not gone away on other quests or been
starved out or pushed out, would come noisily in of an evening, bringing
with them perhaps a man with a fiddle and a man with a flute, and they
would dance and there would be beer and "madeleines" and gay amusement
of a very inoffensi