“ ‘Because,’ he replied, ‘when I was a shepherd in our country (we were both from Galatia), I would have saved the life of a traveller, if I had accompanied him; but I did not show him that charity, and he was devoured by the dogs. Therefore I shall most certainly meet with a similar death.’
“And it really happened as he said. For three years afterwards he was torn to pieces by wild beasts.”
I.
Dear Marie, cease to think of me; all is ended; I am lost. I do not tell you what will become of me; I know nothing myself. I only know that yesterday I received the fatal blow, from which I cannot recover.
I had just finished the last picture, of which I have so often spoke to you—The First Glance. It is the portrait of a young man, who awakens and looks around him, as though he saw everything for the first time.
Some of my friends thought the picture splendid, but added that it would not sell well, as my name was unknown to the public.
After innumerable attempts, all equally unfortunate, I showed it yesterday to a very rich amateur—Baron de Brienne. He examined the picture, thought it remarkable, and then asked if I had often exhibited my pictures.
On my replying in the negative, his expression changed.
“I thought,” said he, “I did not know your name. You must make yourself known. This picture has great merit, and this sketch also,” he added, throwing a rapid glance at my other picture just commenced—you know it, Marie—Cain after his Crime—“but, in fact, you are not known,” he concluded.
“But, sir,” I replied, “I am endeavoring to make myself known.”