The old Marquis de Nani lifted up his hands in pretended horror to please his hostess, and lowered them again and took a pinch of snuff when that lady frowned slightly. “I do not see any particular harm in cock-fighting,” said Toto’s mother, appealing to the company generally, and Helen Powers in particular. “I know it sounds cruel, but, then, they say the cocks enjoy it.” “That must be so,” said the Marquis, replacing his snuff-box in his pocket, “or else they would not fight.” “But——” said Miss Powers, and stopped. Her eyes had met Toto’s eyes. He was standing almost behind his mother and making grimaces, as if to say, “For goodness’ sake don’t begin an argument, or we shall never get away.” “But,” said Miss Powers, shamelessly turning the conversation in the wished-for direction, “you promised me, M. le Prince, to show me those pictures on which you were engaged.” “That is why I came back in such a hurry,” replied Toto. “And if you will accompany me now to my studio, come on, and M. le Marquis also, for he is a connoisseur. No one else; my bashfulness will not hold more than two comfortably.” He led the way, laughing, out of the room and up the great staircase, Helen Powers following and the old Marquis de Nani toiling after, his Empire legs unaccustomed to such unstately swiftness. On the top landing Prince Toto opened a door and switched on the electric light, exposing to view a large square studio. One could see at a glance that this was the atelier of no dilettante. Work was written on the place from the top light to the boarded floor. Several massive easels stood about with the air of willing laborers awaiting their jobs; there was a throne and some drapery; a painting-jacket hung suspended from a nail in the wall, along which a number of canvases stood with their backs to the room like children undergoing punishment. Helen Powers felt utterly astonished. She had known Toto some time, and she liked him more, perhaps, than she had ever liked another man; but she was alive to his faults, his irresponsibility, his childish wildnesses. Here, then, was a revelation of honest hard work more amazing than a jewel in a toad’s head. “I know the place is rather bare,” said Toto apologetically, “but it’s good enough to work in. It’s a bit cold now, but I light a fire when I am working at the nude, and then it is like a furnace. Here’s a thing.” He took one of the canvases in Coventry and placed it upon an easel. “Oh, my God, how beautiful!” said the old Marquis de Nani, putting on his pince-nez as the electric light fell full upon the indifferent-looking daub exposed so ruthlessly to view. “Everyone says that,” said Toto, so innocently and so frankly that the tears almost rose to Helen Powers’ eyes.