He ceased for a minute, fashioning the picture in his mind; his face
pale, but alive with interest, which his enthusiasm made into dignity.
Then he went on:

"But the other: when the king takes up the woman--his mistress--and rides
into the sea with her on his horse, to save the town! By Heaven, with
you to sit, it's my chance! You've got it all there in you--the immense
manner. You, a nineteenth century gentleman, to do this game of Ridley
Court, and paddle round the Row? Not you! You're clever, and you're
crafty, and you've a way with you. But you'll come a cropper at this as
sure as I shall paint two big pictures--if you'll stand to your word."

"We need not discuss my position here. I am in my proper place--in my
father's home. But for the paintings and Paris, as you please."

"That is sensible--Paris is sensible; for you ought to see it right, and
I'll show you what half the world never see, and wouldn't appreciate if
they did. You've got that old, barbaric taste, romance, and you'll find
your metier in Paris."

Gaston now knew the most interesting side of his uncle's character--which
few people ever saw, and they mostly women who came to wish they had
never felt the force of that occasional enthusiasm. He had been in the
National Gallery several times, and over and over again he had visited
the picture places in Bond Street as he passed; but he wanted to get
behind art life, to dig out the heart of it.