way
of body and soul, for that price!"

"See that you get 200,000 then, or three or four; you're worth all that.
Lady-love, indeed! _so_ beautiful, I suppose!
Sentiment--romance--eternal love! Eternal fudge! Remember this, Uncle
Auguste's fortune was not made to encourage tomfoolery."

Now there was really no reason why Uncle Auguste should deliver himself
of that speech. There was no lady-love, no classical halo, and no
centime-grabbing father. But the fact was, the uncle trembled lest he
should be disappointed in the boy he loved so well. He was already
scheming for him, and telling one or two friends of his confidentially,
that it was quite worth while treating Claude with respect, as he was
the nephew of a very rich uncle. It was not to be long before the uncle
was deemed well worthy of respect, as being able to boast of a very
clever nephew.

Whilst he was still painting studies at the Atelier Gleyre, and
attending classes and lectures at the Ecole des Beaux Arts, Claude
started a picture in a queer little studio he had taken for the purpose,
at the top of a very tall house in the Rue de Seine, Quartier Latin.
Somebody, with an eye to artistic possibilities, must have converted
what was originally a garret into a studio by adding a big projecting
window. It had a top light into which all the prying cats of the
neighbourhood used to peer, whilst the less inquisitive ones merely made
the loose tiles rattle as they prowled along the roof.

There was a second studio of the same kind up there, which was occupied
by Giacomo Irmanno, an Italian boy of about seventeen years, with
jet-black curly hair. That peculiar underglow of rich bronze colour, so
characteristic of the Southern type, lit up Irmanno's perfectly
chiselled features. Dupont and I made great friends with him, and I
often enjoyed helping him with his work. He could be very morose and
look Italian daggers, but that was probably because in his desire to
become an artist he was waging war at fearful odds against poverty. He
was quite out of his element under northern skies, and spoke French in a
way that taught me much Italian.

His only means of support were derived from painting what is called "Les
Stations de la Croix." These pictures, destined to decorate the village
churches in France and generally in Catholic countries, are produced in
a more matter-of-fact than artistic way. The employer with an eye to the
advantages of division of labour, has the s