living in the house with us. And it isn't Beaulieu. The day de la France brought his pretty daughters to 'five o'clock' it was obvious that the younger girl was taken with you at sight. She is pretty as a flower and yet you observed her and admired her, if you did admire her, much as if she had been a Chinese porcelain. A young man of your age should at least be thinking of marriage."
"On two hundred and fifty francs a month?" Edward smiled.
"You will soon be earning a lot of money. Beaulieu says so. He burst out swearing only the other day. He said: 'Mon dieu! It may sound preposterous, but that boy of ours—that little Edward Eaton—is already one of the first painters in France.'"
"Did he say that—truly?"
Edward blushed deeply and felt for a few moments as if tears were trying to force themselves into his eyes.
"He did so—truly. And what he says he means—the dear old cabbage."
Edward laughed now. "And he said I was little!"
Edward was much bigger than Beaulieu, taller and broader, but without fat.
"You are really a tall, strong man," said Ma-
