Staggering like a drunken man, Paul Violaine descended the stairs when his
interview with Mascarin had been concluded. The sudden and unexpected good
fortune which had fallen so opportunely at his feet had for the moment absolutely
stunned him. He was now removed from a position which had caused him to
gaze with longing upon the still waters of the Seine, to one of comparative
affluence. "Mascarin," said he to himself, "has offered me an appointment
bringing in twelve thousand francs per annum, and proposed to give me the first
month's salary in advance."
Certainly it was enough to bewilder any man, and Paul was utterly dazed. He
went over all the events that had occurred during the day-- the sudden
appearance of old Tantaine, with his loan of five hundred francs, and the strange
man who knew the whole history of his life, and who, without making any
conditions, had offered him a valuable situation. Paul was in no particular hurry to
get back to the Hotel de Perou, for he said to himself that Rose could wait. A
feeling of restlessness had seized upon him. He wanted to squander money, and
to have the sympathy of some companions,--but where should he go, for he had
no friends? Searching the records of his memory, he remembered that, when
poverty had first overtaken him, he had borrowed twenty francs from a young
fellow of his own age, named Andre. Some gold coins still jingled in his pocket,
and he could have a thousand francs for the asking. Would it not add to his
importance if he were to go and pay this debt? Unluckily his creditor lived a long
distance off in the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. He, however, hailed a passing
cab, and was driven to Andre's address. This young man was only a casual
acquaintance, whom Paul had picked up one day in a small wine-shop to which
he used to take Rose when he first arrived in Paris. Andre, with whose other
name Paul was unacquainted, was an artist, and, in addition, was an ornamental
sculptor, and executed those wonderful decorations on the outside of houses in
which builders delight. The trade is not a pleasant one, for it necessitates working
at dizzy heights, on scaffolds that vibrate with every footstep, and exposes you to
the heat of summer and the frosts of winter. The business, however, is well paid,
and Andre got a good price for his stone figures and wreaths. But all the money
he earned went in the study of the painter's art, which was the secret desire of
his soul. He had taken a studio, and twice his pictures had been exhibited at the
Salon, and orders began to come in. Many of his brother artists predicted a
glorious future for him. When the cab stopped, Paul threw the fare to the driver,
and asked the clean-looking portress, who was polishing the brasswork on the
door, if M. Andre was at home.
"He is, sir," replied the old woman, adding, with much volubility, "and you are
likely to find him in, for he has so much work; but he is such a good and quiet
young man, and so regular in his habits! I don't believe he owes a penny in the
world; and as for drink, why he is a perfect Anchorite. Then he has very few
acquaintances,--one young lady, whose face for a month past I have tried to see,
