tic and far from uncomfortable; or at least," he added, shifting un the stone bench, "not quite so uncomfortable as might have been expected. But pray be seated."
"Yes," returned the undergraduate, sitting down, "it's rather nice than otherwise when once you're used to it; only it's devilish difficult to get washed. I like the fresh air and these stars and things."
"Aha!" said Leon, "Monsieur is an artist."
"An artist?" returned the other, with a blank stare. "Not if I know it!"
"Pardon me," said the actor. "What you said this moment about the orbs of heaven"
"Oh, nonsense!" cried the Englishman. "A fellow may admire the stars and be anything he likes."
You have an artist's nature, however, Mr. I beg your pardon; may I, without indiscretion, inquire your name?" asked Leon.
"My name is Stubbs," replied the Englishman.
"I thank you," returned Leon. "Mine is Berthelini—Leon Berthelini, ex-artist of the theatres of Montrouge, Belleville, and Montmartre. Humble as you see me, I have created with applause more than one important rôle. The Press were unanimous in praise of my Howling Devil of the Mountains, in the piece of the same name. Madame, whom I now present to you, is herself an artist, and 1 must not omit to state, a better artist than her husband. She also is a creator; she created nearly twenty successful songs at one of the principal Parisian music-halls. But, to continue, I was saying you had an artist's nature, Monsieur Stubbs, and you must permit me to be a judge in such a question. I trust you will not falsify your instincts; let me beseech you to follow the career of an artist."
"Thank you," returned Stubbs, with a chuckle. "I'm going to be a banker."
"No," said Leon, "do not say so. Not that. A man with such a nature as yours should not derogate so far.
