together, and were regular attendants at the other church services.
Especially in Lent did we never omit any of the prescribed devotions,
evening prayer not excepted. I have always liked sacred singing, and
in those days organ music would often move me to tears.

My father was in the habit of inviting various artists and men of
letters to his house of an evening. At the head of them I must place
Doyen, the historical painter, my father's most intimate and my first
friend. Doyen was the nicest man in the world, so clever and so good;
his views on persons and things were always exceedingly just, and
moreover he talked about painting with such fervent enthusiasm that it
made my heart beat fast to listen to him. Poinsinet was very clever,
too, and gay. Perhaps his extraordinary credulity is generally known.
As a consequence of it he was continually made game of in the most
unheard-of ways. Some friends once told him that there was an office
called the King's Screen, and persuaded him to stand before a blazing
fire so hot that it nearly roasted his calves. When he attempted to
move away, he was told he must not stir, but that he must accustom
himself to intense heat or he would not get the post. Poinsinet was,
however, far from being a fool. Many of his works are still in favour,
and he is the only author who ever gained three dramatic successes in
one night: "Ermeline," at the Grand Opera; "The Circle," at the
Theatre Francaise; "Tom Jones," at the Opera Comique. Some one put it
into his head that he had a taste for travel, so he began with Spain,
and was drowned while crossing the Guadalquivir.

I may also mention Davesne, painter and poet. He was rather mediocre
in both arts, but was bidden to my father's suppers because of his
witty conversation.

Though nothing more than a child, the jollity of these suppers was a
great source of pleasure to me. I was obliged to leave the table
before dessert, but from my room I heard the laughter and the joking
and the songs. These, I confess, I did not understand; nevertheless,
they helped to make my holidays delightful. At eleven I left the
boarding-school for good, after my first communion. Davesne, who
painted in oils, sent his wife for me to teach me how to mix colours.
Their poverty grieved me deeply. One day, when I wanted to finish a
head I had begun, they made me remain to dinner. The dinner consisted
of soup and baked apples.

I was overjoyed at not having to leave my pa