"You are severe, Monsieur," interrupted his companion. "No, I am just. Nature does not exist amongst us; art alone struts in her place; no European landscape will ever sustain a comparison with a stage scene." "But I resume: I then redoubled my efforts. I wished to leave, but not before assuring my mother a position which would place her forever, whatever might happen during my absence, above want. By dint of work and perseverance, I succeeded in solving this almost unsolvable problem; the efforts it was necessary to make I will not tell you, sir: they surpass all belief; but my determination was taken." "I wished to see that America of which travellers give us such magnificent descriptions. At last, after ten years of incessant struggle, I succeeded in acquiring a sum of thirty-five thousand francs--that was very little, was it not? However, that was sufficient for me; I kept five thousand francs for myself, and placed the rest in my mother's name." "I left; it is now eight months since I landed in America. I am as happy as on the first day. Everything looks smiling to me; the future is mine; I live like the birds, without care for the morrow. I have purchased for the comparatively large sum of two hundred and fifty francs, a rancho of some poor Indian Guaranis, who, frightened by the war of the colonies against the metropolis, have taken a refuge in the grand chaco, among their own people. That is how I have become a landowner." "Continually journeying hither and thither, I study the country, and I choose the landscape that, at a later period, I shall paint. That will last as long as it may: the future is with God; it is useless for me to concern myself with it beforehand." "There is my history, Monsieur; you see it is simple." "Yes," answered his companion, with a pensive air; "too simple, in fact. Complete happiness does not exist in the world in which we are. Why not think a little of the adversity which may surprise you?" "Why," said the artist, laughing, "it is because, more unhappy and poorer than Polycrates, the tyrant of Samos, I have not even a ring to throw into the sea. Moreover, you know the end of the history; some fish or other would bring it back to me. I prefer to wait." "This philosophy is good; I see no fault in it. Happy are those who can practise it; unhappily I am not of the number," said he, repressing a sigh. "If I did not fear to displease you, I would, in my turn, address you a question," pursued the painter. "I know what you wish to ask. You do not understand--is it not so?--how it is that I, whose elevated position would seem to place me under shelter from tempests, find myself near you today in the desert." "Pardon me, Monsieur; if what I ask you will the least in the world annoy you, do not tell me a word." The old man smiled with bitterness--