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， but failed， because she wears a veil， comes to see him， accompanied by her maid.""Good heavens， woman！" cried Paul impatiently， "will you tell me where to find M. Andre？""Fourth floor， first door to the right，" answered the portress， angry at being interrupted； and as Paul ran up the stairs， she muttered， "Ayoung chap with no manners， taking the words out of a body's mouth like that！ Next time he comes， I'll serve him out somehow."Paul found the door， with a card with the word "Andre" marked upon it nailed up， and rapped on the panel. He heard the sound of a piece of furniture being moved， and the jingle of rings being passed along a rod； then a clear， youthful voice answered， "Come in！"Paul entered， and found himself in a large， airy room， lighted by a skylight， and exquisitely clean and orderly. Sketches and drawings were suspended on the walls； there was a handsome carpet from Tunis， and a comfortable lounge； a mirror in a carved frame， which would have gladdened the heart of a connoisseur， stood upon the mantelpiece. An easel with a picture upon it， covered with a green baize curtain， stood in one corner. The young painter was in the centre of his studio， brush and palette in hand. He was a dark， handsome young man， well built and proportioned， with close-cut hair， and a curling beard flowing down over his chest. His face was full of expression， and the energy and vigor imprinted upon it formed a marked contrast to the appearance of Mascarin's /protégé/. Paul noticed that he did not wear the usual painter's blouse， but was carefully dressed in the prevailing fashion. As soon as he recognized Paul， Andre came forward with extended hand. "Ah，" said he， "I am pleased to see you， for Ioften wondered what had become of you."
Paul was offended at this familiar greeting. "I have had many worries and disappointments，" said he.
"And Rose，" said Andre， "how is she--as pretty as ever， I suppose？""Yes， yes，" answered Paul negligently； "but you must forgive me for having vanished so suddenly. I have come to repay your loan， with many thanks.""Pshaw！" returned the painter， "I never thought of the matter again；pray， do not inconvenience yourself."
Again Paul felt annoyed， for he fancied that under the cloak of assumed generosity the painter meant to humiliate him； and the opportunity of airing his newly-found grandeur occurred to him.
"It was a convenience to me， certainly，" said he， "but I am all right now， having a salary of twelve thousand francs."He thought that the artist would be dazzled， and that the mention of this sum would draw from him some exclamations of surprise and envy.
