k I am too old to become an artist?" enquired the young man.

"You? Who knows? But the times are too old. It is the same thing."

"I do not understand."

"You are in love with the life--not with the profession. But the life is
not the same now, nor the art either. Bah! In a few years I shall be out
of fashion. I know it. Then we will go back to first principles. A
garret to live in, bread and salad for dinner. Of course--what do you
expect? That need not prevent us from living in a palace as long as we
can."

Thereupon Anastase Gouache hummed a very lively little song as he
squeezed a few colours from the tubes. Orsino's face betrayed his
discontentment.

"I was not in earnest," he said. "At least, not as to becoming an
artist. I only asked the question to be sure that you would answer it
just as everybody answers all questions of the kind--by discouraging my
wish do anything for myself."

"Why should you do anything? You are so rich!"

"What everybody says! Do you know what we rich men, or we men who are to
be rich, are expected to be? Farmers. It is not gay."

"It would be my dream--pastoral, you know--Normandy cows, a river with
reeds, perpetual Angelus, bread and milk for supper. I adore milk. A
nymph here and there--at your age, it is permitted. My dear friend, why
not be a farmer?"

Orsino laughed a little, in spite of himself.

"I suppose that is an artist's idea of farming."

"As near the truth as a farmer's idea of art, I daresay," retorted
Gouache.

"We see you paint, but you never see us at work. That is the
difference--but that is not the question. Whatever I propose, I get the
same answer. I imagine you will permit me to dislike farming as a
profession."

"For the sake of argument, only," said Gouache gravely.

"Good. For the sake of argument. We will suppose that I am myself in all
respects what I am, excepting that I am never to have any land, and only
enough money to buy cigarettes. I say, 'Let me take a profession. Let me
be a soldier.' Every one rises up and protests against the idea of a
Saracinesca serving in the Italian army. Why? Remember that your father
was a volunteer officer under Pope Pius Ninth.' It is comic. He spent an
afternoon on the Pincio for his convictions, and then retired into
private life. 'Let me serve in a foreign army--France, Austria, Russia,
I do not care.' They are more horrified than ever. 'You have not a spark
of patriotism! To serve a foreign power! How d