CHAPTER XVII. PLEASURES OF EAVESDROPPING
July 22d.
At two o’clock to-day I went to see Sylvestre, to tell him all the great events of yesterday. We sat down on the old covered sofa in the shadow of the movable curtain which divides the studio, as it were, into two rooms, among the lay figures, busts, varnish-bottles, and paint-boxes. Lampron likes this chiaroscuro. It rests his eyes.
Some one knocked at the door.
“Stay where you are,” said Sylvestre; “it’s a customer come for the background of an engraving. I’ll be with you in two minutes. Come in!” As he was speaking he drew the curtain in front of me, and through the thin stuff I could see him going toward the door, which had just opened.
“Monsieur Lampron?”
“I am he, Monsieur.”
“You don’t recognize me, Monsieur?”
“No, Monsieur.”