"Good-day, madame! Many thanks for your charming hospitality! Give my respects to monsieur, your husband—and kiss the little Léon for me!"
They passed out into the rue Fabert, into the fresh and frosty air, and involuntarily the boy's arm pressed his.
"How am I to thank you?" he murmured. "It is too much—this kindness to a stranger."
The Irishman paused and looked at him. "Thanks be damned!—and stranger be damned!" he said with sudden vehemence. "Aren't we citizens of a free world? Must I know a man for years before I can call him my friend? And must every one I've known since childhood be my friend? I tell you I saw you and I liked you—that was all, and 'twas enough."
Max looked at him with a certain grave simplicity. "Forgive me!" he said.
Instantly the other's annoyance was dispelled. "Forgive! Nonsense! Tell me your plans, that's all I want."
"My plans are very easy to explain. I shall rent a studio here in Paris—and there I shall work."
"As a student?"
"No, I have had my years of study; I am older than you think." He took no notice of the other's raised eyebrows. "I want to paint a picture—a great picture. I am seeking the idea."
"Good! Good! Then we'll make that our basis—the search for the idea. The search for the great idea!"