"
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.
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