‘Ay—­Bouguereau.  Isn’t his front name William?’ And Chalks, speaking as it were ex cathedra, made very short work indeed of Monsieur Bouguereau’s claims to rank as a painter.  Blake listened with open-eyed wonder.  But we are difficult critics, we of the Paris art schools, between the ages of twenty and twenty-five; cold, cynical, suspicious as any Old Bailey judge; and rare is the man whose work can sustain our notice, and get off with lighter censure than ‘croute’ or ‘plat d’epinards.’  We grow more lenient, however, as we advance in years.  Already, at thirty, we begin to detect signs of promise in other canvases than our own.  At forty, conceivably, we shall even admit a certain degree of actual merit.

By and by, Chalks having concluded his pronouncement, and drifted to another corner of the room, Blake and I fell into separate talk.

‘I must count it a piece of exceptional good fortune,’ he informed me, ’to have made the acquaintance of your little coterie this evening.  I am on the point of writing a novel, in which it will be necessary that my hero should pass several years as a student in the Latin Quarter; and I have run over from London for the especial purpose of collecting local colour.  No doubt you will be able to help me with a hint or two as to the best mode of setting about it.’

‘I can think of none better than to come here and live for a while,’ said I.

’I only arrived last night, and I put up at the Grand Hotel.  But it was quite my intention to move across the river directly I could find suitable lodgings.  Do you know of any that you could recommend?’

’If you want to see student life par excellence, you can scarcely improve upon the shop I’m in myself—­the Hotel du Saint-Esprit, in the Rue St. Jacques.’

And after he had examined me in some detail touching that house of entertainment, ‘Yes,’ he said, ’then, if you will bespeak a room for me there, I’ll come to-morrow and stop for a week or ten days.’

‘A week or ten days?’ I questioned.

’I can’t spare more than a fortnight.  I must be back in town by the 20th.’

’But what can you hope to learn of Latin Quarter customs in a fortnight?  One ought to live here for a year, at the very least, before attempting to write us up.’

‘Ah,’ he rejoined, shaking his head and gazing dreamily at something invisible beyond the smoky atmosphere of the cafe, ’a man with dramatic insight can learn as much in a fortnight as an ordinary person in half a lifetime.  Intuition and inspiration take the place of the note-book and the yard-stick.  The author of The Merchant of Venice had never visited Italy.  In “Crispin Dorr” I have described a tempest and a shipwreck at which old sailors shudder:  and my longest voyage has been from Holyhead to Kingstown.  Besides,’ he added, with a bow and smile, ’for the Latin Quarter, if you will take me under your protection, I shall, I am sure, benefit by the services of a capital cicerone.’