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carronades; he had travelled Europe in a chaise and four,

drawing bridle at the palace-doors of German princes; queens



of song and dance had followed him like sheep and paid his

tailor's bills. And to behold him now, seeking small loans



with plaintive condescension, sponging for breakfast on an

art-student of nineteen, a fallen Don Juan who had neglected



to die at the propitious hour, had a colour of romance for

young imaginations. His name and his bright past, seen



through the prism of whispered gossip, had gained him the

nickname of THE ADMIRAL.



Dick found him one day at the receipt of custom, rapidly

painting a pair of hens and a cock in a little water-colour



sketching box, and now and then glancing at the ceiling like

a man who should seek inspiration from the muse. Dick



thought it remarkable that a painter should choose to work

over an absinthe in a public cafe, and looked the man over.



The aged rakishness of his appearance was set off by a

youthful costume; he had disreputable grey hair and a



disreputable sore, red nose; but the coat and the gesture,

the outworks of the man, were still designed for show. Dick



came up to his table and inquired if he might look at what

the gentleman was doing. No one was so delighted as the



Admiral.

'A bit of a thing,' said he. 'I just dash them off like



that. I - I dash them off,' he added with a gesture.

'Quite so,' said Dick, who was appalled by the feebleness of



the production.

'Understand me,' continued Van Tromp; 'I am a man of the



world. And yet - once an artist always an artist. All of a

sudden a thought takes me in the street; I become its prey:



it's like a pretty woman; no use to struggle; I must - dash

it off.'



'I see,' said Dick.

'Yes,' pursued the painter; 'it all comes easily, easily to



me; it is not my business; it's a pleasure. Life is my

business - life - this great city, Paris - Paris after dark -



its lights, its gardens, its odd corners. Aha!' he cried,

'to be young again! The heart is young, but the heels are



leaden. A poor, mean business, to grow old! Nothing remains

but the COUP D'OEIL, the contemplative man's enjoyment, Mr. -



,' and he paused for the name.

'Naseby,' returned Dick.



The other treated him at once to an exciting beverage, and

expatiated on the pleasure of meeting a compatriot in a



foreign land; to hear him, you would have thought they had

encountered in Central Africa. Dick had never found any one



take a fancy to him so readily, nor show it in an easier or

less offensive manner. He seemed tickled with him as an



elderly fellow about town might be tickled by a pleasant and

witty lad; he indicated that he was no precision, but in his



wildest times had never been such a blade as he thought Dick.

Dick protested, but in vain. This manner of carrying an



intimacy at the bayonet's point was Van Tromp's stock-in-

trade. With an older man he insinuated himself; with youth



he imposed himself, and in the same breath imposed an ideal

on his victim, who saw that he must work up to it or lose the



esteem of this old and viciouspatron. And what young man

can bear to lose a character for vice?



At last, as it grew towards dinner-time, 'Do you know Paris?'

asked Van Tromp.



'Not so well as you, I am convinced,' said Dick.

'And so am I,' returned Van Tromp gaily. 'Paris! My young



friend - you will allow me? - when you know Paris as I do,

you will have seen Strange Things. I say no more; all I say



is, Strange Things. We are men of the world, you and I, and

in Paris, in the heart of civilised existence. This is an



opportunity, Mr. Naseby. Let us dine. Let me show you where

to dine.'



Dick consented. On the way to dinner the Admiral showed him




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