surrounding he had seen me in.

The portrait did not come right; ultimately it was destroyed; but it
gave me every opportunity of studying Manet's method of painting.
Strictly speaking, he had no method; painting with him was a pure
instinct. Painting was one of the ways his nature manifested itself.
That frank, fearless, prompt nature manifested itself in everything
that concerned him--in his large plain studio, full of light as a
conservatory; in his simple, scrupulous clothes, and yet with a touch
of the dandy about them; in decisive speech, quick, hearty, and
informed with a manly and sincere understanding of life. Never was an
artist's inner nature in more direct conformity with his work. There
were no circumlocutions in Manet's nature, there were none in his art.

The colour of my hair never gave me a thought until Manet began to
paint it. Then the blonde gold that came up under his brush filled me
with admiration, and I was astonished when, a few days after, I saw
him scrape off the rough paint and prepare to start afresh.

"Are you going to get a new canvas?"

"No; this will do very well."

"But you can't paint yellow ochre on yellow ochre without getting it
dirty?"

"Yes, I think I can. You go and sit down."

Half-an-hour after he had entirely repainted the hair, and without
losing anything of its brightness. He painted it again and again;