“Yes; they have big names now. But after all Anne, it’s you who have made an art of life. You’re the only real success. You and René—who was wise enough to die,” he added.
“Talk to me about Paris,” Anne urged. “What is your new studio like? Very gorgeous, I suppose?”
“It’s the studio of a popular portrait-painter. Now you know all about it.”
“And the Duclos? And Georges Pasteurs?”
He began to talk gaily, while she questioned him, and they both laughed at reminiscences. There was no end to her eager inquiries.
“How you remember the people!” exclaimed François, presently.
“How can I forget?” she asked.
It was late when he rose to go.
“To-morrow, early I start for London, to prepare for the fuss of next week. I’m glad you won’t be there, Anne.”
His whimsical mocking smile met her as she raised her eyes.