turned from the master.

"So he does: there is one in his studio now. A girl clad in gray and
shadow--open-air shade which in his hands is so clear and luminous.
She walks along a garden-path, her head bent down, dreaming as she
goes, and unconsciously nearing a half-open gateway, through which the
sunshine is streaming. Above the rustic gate two doves are billing and
cooing. You feel sure the girl is about to pass through this typical,
sunshiny, invitingly half-open door; and--what is beyond?"

Just then we were called to lunch, a plentiful but not luxurious
repast. There was no lack of lively repartees and anecdotes, and
we had speeches and songs afterward. I wonder if I ever heard "'Tis
better to laugh than be sighing" given with more zest than on that
day? One could easily imagine that it was such an occasion as this
that had inspired it.

Lunch being over, Monsieur C---- was asked to relate one of his own
stories. I cannot give it entire, but the plot was this: A pilgrim,
whom he called poor Jacques, hearing much of heaven, set out to find
his way to the blessed abode, with only a little dog to accompany him
on the journey. As he went he met many of his contemporaries, who
had made what a walker would style but poor time. The allusions to
well-known peculiarities in the various people and their occupation in
the other life caused much amusement. For instance, Ingres the painter
was seated by the roadside playing Rossini's music on the violin, on
which instrument he was a great proficient. But he was known to detest
the Italian's music before he started heavenward: his taste must then
have grown _en route_. (Critics might object to this supposition.)
However, Jacques was anxious to push on, and spent little time