“Married, you!” said the other. “Then I am not surprised to see you look so funny: and what are you doing now?”
“I have taken a small studio,” replied Laurent; “and I paint a little, in the morning.”
Then, in a feverish voice, he briefly related the story of his marriage, and explained his future plans. His friend observed him with an air of astonishment that troubled and alarmed him. The truth was that the painter no longer found in the husband of Thérèse, the coarse, common fellow he had known formerly. It seemed to him that Laurent was acquiring a gentlemanly bearing; his face had grown thinner, and had taken the pale tint of good taste, while his whole frame looked more upright and supple.
“But you are becoming a handsome chap,” the artist could not refrain from exclaiming. “You are dressed like an ambassador, in the latest style. Who’s your model?”
Laurent, who felt the weight of the examination he was undergoing, did not dare to abruptly take himself off.
“Will you come up to my studio for a moment?” he at last asked his friend, who showed no signs of leaving him.
“Willingly,” answered the latter.
The painter, who could not understand the change he noticed in his old comrade, was anxious to visit his studio. He had no idea of climbing five floors to gaze on the new pictures of Laurent, which assuredly would disgust him; he merely wished to satisfy his curiosity.
When he had reached the studio, and had glanced at the canvases hanging against the walls, his astonishment redoubled. They comprised five studies, two heads of women, and three of men painted with real vigour. They looked thick and substantial, each part being dashed off with magnificent dabs of colour on a clear grey background. The artist quickly approached, and was so astounded that he did not even seek to conceal his amazement.
“Did you do those?” he inquired of Laurent.