CHAPTER XXII


Lewis's life in Paris fell into unusual, but not unhappy, lines. It was
true that when others were around, Le Brux treated him as though he were
a scullion or at least a poor relative living on his bounty, for the
great sculptor was in dread lest it be noised about that he had at last
taken a pupil. But when they were alone, he made up for all his
brutality by a certain tenderness which he was at great pains to
dissemble. He had but one phrase of commendation, and it harped back and
reminded them both of Leighton. When Le Brux was well pleased with
Lewis, he would say, "My son, I shall yet create thee."

It could not be said that master and pupil lived together. Lewis had a
room down the hall and the freedom of the great atelier, but he never
ate with Le Brux and never accompanied him on his rare outings. From the
very first day he had learned that he must fend for himself.

Curiosity in all that was new about him sustained the boy for a few
days, but as the fear of getting lost restricted him to the immediate
neighborhood of his abode,--a neighborhood where the sign "On parle
anglais" never appeared in the shop windows, and where a restaurateur
would not deign to speak English even if he knew it,--he gradually
became a prey to the most terrible of all lonelinesses--the loneliness
of an outsider in a vast, gay city.

At first he did not dare go into a restaurant. When hunger forced him,