'Oh, these Frenchmen are so indifferent to things not French, you
know,' said I.

'Yes--but--still--I wish you could make an occasion to let him know.
In introducing me you might have added "a distinguished English
author."'

'But do you quite realise who _he_ is?' I cried. 'He's jolly near the
most distinguished living painter.'

'Never mind. He is treating me now as he might Brown, Jones, or
Robinson.' As this was with a superfine consideration, it seemed
unreasonable to demand a difference. Nevertheless, I seized an
opportunity to whisper in the Master's ear a word or two to the
desired effect. '_Tiens_!' he returned composedly, and continued to
treat his visitor precisely as he had done from the beginning.

Blake had announced that he wanted to gather information about the
Latin Quarter; and I don't doubt that his purpose was sincere, but he
employed a novel method of attaining it. We took him everywhere, we
showed him everything; I could never observe that he either looked or
listened. He would sit (or stand or walk), his eye craving admiration
from our faces; his tongue wagging about himself; his early hardships,
his first success, his habits of work, his troubles with his wife, his
_liaison_ with Lady Blank, his tastes in fruits and wines, his
handwriting, his very teeth and boots. He passed his life in a sort of
trance, an ecstacy of self-absorption; he had fallen in love with his
own conception of himself, like a metaphysical Narcissus. This
idiosyncrasy was the means of defeating various conspiracies, in which
Chalks, of course, was the prime mover, calculated to impose upon his