"I will talk to him about foreign
parts," thought I, "and try if I can't make him forget that he is
sitting for his picture in that way."
While I was pointing my chalks Mr. Faulkner was walking up and
down the room. He chanced to see the portfolio I had brought with
me leaning against the wall, and asked if there were any sketches
in it. I told him there were a few which I had made during my
recent stay in Paris; "In Paris?" he repeated, with a look of
interest; "may I see them?"
I gave him the permission he asked as a matter of course. Sitting
down, he took the portfolio on his knee, and began to look
through it. He turned over the first five sketches rapidly
enough; but when he came to the sixth, I saw his face flush
directly, and observed that he took the drawing out of the
portfolio, carried it to the window, and remained silently
absorbed in the contemplation of it for full five minutes. After
that, he turned round to me, and asked very anxiously if I had
any objection to part with that sketch.
It was the least interesting drawing of the collection--merely a
view in one of the streets running by the backs of the houses in
the Palais Royal. Some four or five of these houses were
comprised in the view, which was of no particular use to me in
any way; and which was too valueless, as a work of art, for me to
think of selling it. I begged his acceptance of it at once.
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