“I work for it,” said he, drawing himself up with such a strange expression of voice and feature that Andre could not fail to notice it. “I work too,” remarked he; “I am never idle.” “But I have to work very hard,” returned Paul, “for I have not, like you, a friend or protector to interest himself in me.” Paul, who had not a particle of gratitude in his disposition, had entirely forgotten Mascarin. The artist was much amused by this speech. “And where do you think that a foundling, as I am, would find a protector?” Paul opened his eyes. “What,” said he, “are you one of those?” “I am; I make no secret of it, hoping that there is no occasion for me to feel shame, though there may be for grief. All my friends know this; and I am surprised that you are not aware that I am simply a foundling from the Hopital de Vendome. Up to twelve years of age I was perfectly happy, and the master praised me for the knack I had of acquiring knowledge. I used to work in the garden by day, and in the evening I wasted reams of paper; for I had made up my mind to be an artist. But nothing goes easily in this world, and one day the lady superintendent conceived the idea of apprenticing me to a tanner.” Paul, who had taken a seat on the divan in order to listen, here commenced making a cigarette; but Andre stopped him. “Excuse me; but will you oblige me by not smoking?” Paul tossed the cigarette aside, though he was a little surprised, as the painter was an inveterate smoker. “All right,” said he, “but continue your story.” “I will; it is a long one. I hated the tanner’s business from the very beginning. Almost the first day an awkward workman scalded me so severely that the traces still remain.” As he spoke he rolled up his shirt sleeve, and exhibited a scar that covered nearly all one side of his arm. “Horrified at such a commencement, I entreated the lady superintendent, a hideous old woman in spectacles, to apprentice me to some other trade, but she sternly refused. She had made up her mind that I should be a tanner.” “That was very nasty of her,” remarked Paul. “It was, indeed; but from that day I made up my mind, and I determined to run away as soon as I could get a little money together. I therefore stuck steadily to the business, and by the end of the year, by means of the strictest economy, I found myself master of thirty francs. This, I thought, would do, and, with a bundle containing a change of linen, I started on foot for Paris. I was only thirteen, but I had been gifted by Providence with plenty of that strong will called by many obstinacy. I had made up my mind to be a painter.” “And you kept your vow?” “But with the greatest difficulty. Ah! I can close my eyes and see the place where I slept that first night I came to Paris. I was so exhausted that I did not awake for twelve hours. I ordered a good breakfast; and finding funds at a very low ebb, I started in search of work.”