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 parting 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.  He thanked me quite warmly; and then, seeing that I looked a little surprised at the odd selection he had made from my sketches, laughingly asked me if I could guess why he had been so anxious to become possessed of the view which I had given him.

“Probably,” I answered, “there is some remarkable historical association connected with that street at the back of the Palais Royal, of which I am ignorant.”

“No,” said Mr. Faulkner; “at least none that I know of.  The only association connected with the place in my mind is a purely personal association.  Look at this house in your drawing—­the house with the water-pipe running down it from top to bottom.  I once passed a night there—­a night I shall never forget to the day of my death.  I have had some awkward travelling adventures in my time; but that adventure!  Well, never mind, suppose we begin the sitting.  I make but a bad return for your kindness in giving me the sketch by thus wasting your time in mere talk.”

“Come! come!” thought I, as he went back to the sitter’s chair, “I shall see your natural expression on your face if I can only get you to talk about that adventure.”  It was easy enough to lead him in the right direction.  At the first hint from me, he returned to the subject of the house in the back street.  Without, I hope, showing any undue curiosity, I contrived to let him see that I felt a deep interest in everything he now said.  After two or three preliminary hesitations, he at last, to my great joy, fairly started on the narrative of his adventure.  In the interest of his subject he soon completely forgot that he was sitting for his portrait,—­the very expression that I wanted came over his face,—­and my drawing proceeded toward completion, in the right direction, and to the best purpose.  At every fresh touch I felt more and more certain that I was now getting the better of my grand difficulty; and I enjoyed the additional gratification of having my work lightened by the recital of a true story, which possessed, in my estimation, all the excitement of the most exciting romance.