It was certain that until these things were accomplished Madame Carthame’s lofty resolution to transform her daughter into a countess, and her stern disapprobation of Jaune as a social outcast, never would be overcome!

As events turned out, it was the second of these requirements that was fulfilled first.

Mr. Badger Brush was a very rich sporting man, whose tastes were horsey, but whose heart was in the right place.  It was his delight to make or to back extraordinary wagers.  Few New Yorkers have forgotten that very queer bet of his that resulted in putting high hats on all the Broadway telegraph poles.  When Mr. Brush read the story of Jaune d’Antimoine’s wager, therefore, he was greatly pleased with its originality; and when, later in the day, he fell in with little Conte Crayon at Jerome Park, he pressed that ingenious young newspaper man for additional particulars.  And knowing the whereabouts of Mr. Badger Brush’s heart, Conte Crayon did not hesitate to tell the whole story—­ winding up with the pointed suggestion that inasmuch as the hero of the story was an animal-painter of decided, though as yet unrecognized, ability, Mr. Brush could not do better than manifest his interest in a practical way by giving him an order.  The sporting man rose to the suggestion with a commendable promptness and warmth.

“I don’t care a blank if it wasn’t a bet,” he said, heartily.  “That young man has pluck, and he deserves to be encouraged.  I’ll go down and see him to-morrow, and I’ll order a portrait of Celeripes; a life-size, thousand-dollar portrait, by Jove!  Celeripes deserves it, after the pot of money he brought me at Long Branch, and your friend deserves it too.  And I have some other horses that I want painted, and some dogs—­he paints dogs, I suppose?  And I know a lot of other fellows who ought to have their horses painted, and I’ll start them along at him.  I’ll give him all the painting he can handle in the next ten years.  For it was a bet, you see, after all.  Didn’t he back his cleverness in disguise against the wits of the whole town?  And didn’t the slop-shop man put up the stakes?  And didn’t he just win in a canter?  I should rather think he did!  Of course it was a bet, and a mighty good one at that.  Gad!  Crayon, it’s the best thing that’s been done in New York for years.  It’s what I call first-class cheek.  I couldn’t have done it better, sir, myself!”

Thus it fell out that half an hour after Jaune got back to his studio from that memorable walk to the Gansevoort market, he had the breath-taking-away felicity of booking a thousand-dollar order, and of receiving such obviously trustworthy assurances of many more orders that his wildest hopes of success in a moment were resolved into substantial realities.  When he was alone again he certainly would have believed that he had been dreaming but for the fact that Mr. Badger Brush had insisted upon paying half the price of the picture down in advance; for whatever this