Esperance hurried down, and in the dining-room, a marvel of marqueterie and mosaic, was a young man.

"My dear Goutran," he said, as the stranger advanced to meet him, "I cannot tell you how obliged I am for this visit."

This Goutran, Goutran Sabrau, was a tall young fellow of about twenty-five, with blonde hair and a frank face. He was a painter, and had already attained some celebrity.

"Upon my word, this is a welcome worth having," said Goutran. "But what is going on here, you do not look like yourself. Your eyes are much brighter than usual. Have you not some secret to confide to me?"

The two young men took their seats at a table, laid with great elegance.

"No. I have no secrets," answered Esperance, "and I am unaware of any change."

"And yet the very tones of your voice are altered."

Esperance interrupted his friend with some impatience.

"Never mind that! I assure you that so far from having anything pleasant to communicate, I am out of spirits. My father has gone away."

Goutran looked at him with some surprise.

The intimacy between these young men had begun by Esperance wishing to buy a picture of Goutran's, which had obtained a great success at the Salon. The picture was of a gipsy girl playing a violin and dancing. Bertuccio went to the painter's studio, and offered an enormous sum for the picture, which was refused by Goutran. Accustomed to the gratification of all his caprices, he went himself to the studio. But the young man replied:

"You offer me, sir, twenty thousand francs for a canvas for which a picture dealer would not give me fifty louis, and yet I refuse. At the same time I am immensely flattered, and feel that I owe you an explanation. The picture is dear to me for reasons which are neither a drama nor a poem. I had a friend whom I adored. She had an affection of the lungs and I often took her into the country. We were one day at Mendon when we heard strange music, wild barbarian music. We approached softly, and beheld through the trees a young gipsy girl playing a violin and lightly dancing as she played. We listened in astonishment, for the music was most singular. Suddenly I felt that my companion was clinging heavily to my arm. She had fainted. I seized her in my arms, and bore her away. In a week death was very near. Then she said to me:

"'I must hear that gipsy again!'

"I could not leave her, but I sent a friend to find this unknown girl. Each morning I discovered that the search had been fruitless. The sick girl said when I told her, 'Very well! I shall not die until she comes.' On the fourth day she half lifted herself from her bed exclaiming:

"'There she is! I hear her!'

"I ran to the window, and beheld the gipsy in the garden. How did the sick girl know she was there? The gipsy had not played a note. I could not refuse my poor AimÉe anything, and sent for the gipsy to come at once to the room where the sick girl lay. The gipsy began to play such soft, mysterious melodies. Poor AimÉe listened with a faint smile. Suddenly she drew me to her, kissed me, and died. This gipsy, sir, is the one I have painted. You see therefore that I could never part with this picture."

At this time Esperance was doing his best to copy his father's manners. He was but twenty-one and he affected impassibility. He adopted his most phlegmatic English air, and replied to the painter:

"Your story is most interesting, but I will give fifty thousand francs."

Goutran was surprised and somewhat displeased. He repeated his refusal, and Esperance departed discontented with himself and with every one else.

On thinking the whole affair over he was heartily ashamed of himself. On the third day he went to the studio, and, on entering, said simply:

"For two days I have been uncomfortable. I beg you to accept my apologies for my ungentlemanly conduct."

Goutran was an excellent person, he had early learned indulgence to others. He at once saw that this handsome young fellow was a boy in reality, with plenty of theories, but no experience of life. He therefore received this apology frankly, and talked for some time to him as to a younger brother.

Esperance listened without a word. The distrust which was a part of his nature struggled against the cordiality shown by Goutran.

Finally Esperance had a friend. To Goutran alone did he ever open his heart, and even when he had been with him for hours, laughing and talking with gayety, he appeared before Monte-Cristo as impassive as ever.

Goutran did not attempt to penetrate the secrets of his life. He knew, however, that the day could not be far off when the butterfly would emerge from the chrysalis.

"My father has gone away," Esperance had said.

"Indeed! And where has he gone?"

"I have no idea. He simply wrote me a few lines announcing his departure."

Goutran did not think it worth while to be astonished, for this was a most singular household.

"Then you are entirely your own master?"

"Yes," answered Esperance, "I am free."

"I have a favor to ask," said Goutran, after a minute's silence.

"Ask it. You know every thing I have is yours."

"Yes—another minute you would offer me millions."

"No, I did not think of doing so. I am rich, I know, but it is not my fault. And I do not think it generous in you to reproach me with these millions."

"I did not mean to offend you. If I needed money I would ask you for it."

"Money! what is that? I should have only to fill out a check, you know. But ask me to fight for you, to be killed for you!"

Goutran took the hand of the youth in his, and smilingly said:

"Do you know, Esperance, the greatest sacrifice I can ask of you?"

"Go on."

"It would be to mount upon the imperial of an omnibus. Ah! you are astonished, and are asking yourself if I am not laughing at you, but I assure you that I am in solemn earnest. The truth is, Esperance, that you are not happy."

"I assure you—"

"No, you are not happy because you are hampered by conventionalities. You never were in an omnibus, I suppose?"

"No, never."

"When you wish to go out you ring the bell, and your carriage is brought round. If you go to the theatre a spacious loge is in readiness for you. You go into society—you are received with smiles. Do you know that a life like that would be my death?"

"Why do you talk thus to-day?" asked Esperance.

"I can't tell you why. The words come of themselves, but they express my feelings precisely. You millionaires know nothing of life. You are like a drop of oil in a pitcher of water—you do not mingle with the rest of humanity, and you are bored!"

Esperance was annoyed that his mood had been so readily divined.

"But you have not told me what sacrifice you desired of me."

"I did not say sacrifice—I said service."

"Well, whichever it may be, I am ready."

"Very good! You are certainly the best fellow in the world!"

Here it must be mentioned that Esperance never drank wine. The table was supplied with several kinds, but, like his father, Esperance never touched them.

Goutran poured some sherry into the glass of his friend.

"I have come," he said, "to make a confession and ask a loan."

He tossed off a glass of wine as he spoke. Esperance mechanically drank also.

"This is my confession: I, Goutran, a painter, propose to give a soirÉe to-morrow night."

"You!"

"Yes, neither more nor less, and I intend to add to this soirÉe a ball."

"In your atÉlier?"

"Why not? It is not as large as the Square, to be sure, but it will be a success."

"But what is the occasion of these festivities?"

"Oh! thereby hangs a tale. A great Italian lord was, when I was in Rome, extremely kind to me. He treated me like a son. He has come to Paris, and I must do something for him and for other friends. He is immensely wealthy himself—not to be mentioned the same day with you, to be sure. I intend to kill two birds with one stone, and invite my friends to send their pictures on exhibition. I need your assistance, and I need some tapestries."

Esperance listened attentively, and did not notice that Goutran had filled his glass with sherry again.

"I want my studio to be magnificent on this occasion, and as we artists are not rich enough to buy oriental hangings, we are all going to our friends to borrow of them. You have treasures of this nature—will you lend them to me? And the great service was simply that you should lend me some of those marvelous Japanese hangings of yours."

"I regret extremely that you ask such a trifle at my hands, and now beg that you will grant me one."

"What is that?"

"Will you give up the arrangement of the studio to me? I will send men and all my Smyrna and India stuff to-morrow morning, and they will do it all."

"No, no! Do you think I would allow common upholsterers to touch your treasures! I wish to mount step-ladders in my shirt sleeves, with a big hammer in my hand, and put them up myself."

And, as Esperance looked at him with troubled surprise, Goutran continued:

"My dear friend, open your boxes for me, let me select what I want. We two will study the effects, and then I will carry off a bundle in my arms with joy and gratitude. By the way, I shall expect you at my soirÉe!"

"Oh! you know that I always work in the evening."

"What has that to do with it? You need not work unless you choose. Come—there will be ladies there!"