"I could not leave her, but I sent a friend to find this unknown girl. Each morning I discovered that the search had been fruitless. The sick girl said when I told her, 'Very well! I shall not die until she comes.' On the fourth day she half lifted herself from her bed exclaiming:
"'There she is! I hear her!'
"I ran to the window, and beheld the gipsy in the garden. How did the sick girl know she was there? The gipsy had not played a note. I could not refuse my poor Aimée anything, and sent for the gipsy to come at once to the room where the sick girl lay. The gipsy began to play such soft, mysterious melodies. Poor Aimée listened with a faint smile. Suddenly she drew me to her, kissed me, and died. This gipsy, sir, is the one I have painted. You see therefore that I could never part with this picture."
At this time Esperance was doing his best to copy his father's manners. He was but twenty-one and he affected impassibility. He adopted his most phlegmatic English air, and replied to the painter:
"Your story is most interesting, but I will give fifty thousand francs."
Goutran was surprised and somewhat displeased. He repeated his refusal, and Esperance departed discontented with himself and with every one else.
On thinking the whole affair over he was heartily ashamed of himself. On the third day he went to the studio, and, on entering, said simply:
"For two days I have been uncomfortable. I beg you to accept my apologies for my ungentlemanly conduct."
Goutran was an excellent person, he had early learned indulgence to others. He at once saw that this handsome young fellow was a boy in reality, with plenty of theories, but no experience of life. He therefore received this apology frankly, and talked for some time to him as to a younger brother.
Esperance listened without a word. The distrust which was a part of his nature struggled against the cordiality shown by Goutran.