convinced them after a little that when once they had got used to
impressionism they would never look at anything else. Mr. Waterlow was
the man, among the young, and he had no interest in praising him,
because he was not a personal friend: his reputation was advancing with
strides, and any one with any sense would want to secure something
before the rush.



III

The young ladies consented to return to the Avenue des Villiers; and
this time they found the celebrity of the future. He was smoking
cigarettes with a friend while coffee was served to the two gentlemen--
it was just after luncheon--on a vast divan covered with scrappy
oriental rugs and cushions; it looked, Francie thought, as if the artist
had set up a carpet-shop in a corner. He struck her as very pleasant;
and it may be mentioned without circumlocution that the young lady
ushered in by the vulgar American reporter, whom he didn't like and who
had already come too often to his studio to pick up "glimpses" (the
painter wondered how in the world he had picked HER up), this charming
candidate for portraiture rose on the spot before Charles Waterlow as a
precious model. She made, it may further be declared, quite the same
impression on the gentleman who was with him and who never took his eyes
off her while her own rested afresh on several finished and unfinished
canvases. This gentleman asked of his friend at the end of five minutes
the favour of an introduction to her; in consequence of which Francie
learned that his name--she thought it singular--was Gaston Probert. Mr.
Probert was a kind-eyed smiling youth who fingered the points of his
moustache; he was represented by Mr. Waterlow as an American, but he