"So," said Dalibard, "when I consented to your studying Art, as you call
it, under your mother's most respectable brother, I ought to have
contemplated what would be the natural and becoming companions of the
rising Raphael I have given to the world."

"I own, sir," replied Gabriel, demurely, "that they are riotous fellows;
but some of them are clever, and--"

"And excessively drunk," interrupted Dalibard, examining the gait of his
son. "Do you learn that accomplishment also, by way of steadying your
hand for the easel?"

"No, sir; I like wine well enough, but I would not be drunk for the
world. I see people when they are drunk are mere fools,--let out their
secrets, and show themselves up."

"Well said," replied the father, almost admiringly. "But a truce with
this bantering, Gabriel. Can you imagine that I will permit you any
longer to remain with that vagabond Varney and yon crew of vauriens? You
will come home with me; and if you must be a painter, I will look out for
a more trustworthy master."

"I shall stay where I am," answered Gabriel, firmly, and compressing his
lips with a force that left them bloodless.

"What, boy? Do I hear right? Dare you disobey me? Dare you defy?"

"Not in your house, so I will not enter it again." Dalibard laughed
mockingly.