He spoke disconsolately, in a tone more befitting the back than the front of him, and quite out of accord with the reckless revelry around him.

“Oh! you’ll make lots of money with your pictures,” I said heartily.

He shook his head.  “That’s the chap who’s going to scoop in the dollars,” he said, indicating a brawny Frenchman attired in a blanket that girdled his loins, and black feathers that decorated his hair.  “That fellow’s got the touch of Velasquez.  You should see the portrait he’s doing for the Salon.”

“Well, I don’t see much art in his costume, anyhow,” I retorted.  “Yours is an inspiration of genius.”

“Yes; so prophetic, don’t you know,” he replied modestly.  “But you are not the only one who has complimented me.  To it I owe the proudest moment of my life—­when I shook hands with a European prince.”  And he laughed with returning merriment.

“Indeed!” I exclaimed.  “With which?”

“Ah!  I see your admiration for my rig is mounting.  No; it wasn’t with the Prince of Wales—­confess your admiration is going down already.  Come, you shall guess. Je vous le donne en trois.”

After teasing me a little he told me it was the Kronprinds of Denmark.  “At the Kunstner Karneval in Copenhagen,” he explained briefly.  His front face had grown sad again.

“Did you study art in Copenhagen?” I inquired.

“Yes, before I joined that expedition,” he said.  “It was from there I started.”

“Yes, of course,” I replied.  “I remember now.  It was a Danish expedition.  But what made you chuck up your studies so suddenly?”

“Oh!  I don’t know.  I guess I was just about sick of most things.  My stars!  Look at that little gypsy-girl dancing the can-can; isn’t she fresh?  Isn’t she wonderful?  How awful to think she’ll be used up in a year or two!”

“I suppose there was a woman—­the eternal feminine,” I said, sticking him to the point, for I was more interested in him than in the seething saturnalia, our common sobriety amid which seemed somehow to raise our casual acquaintanceship to the plane of confidential friendship.

“Yes, I suppose there was a woman,” he echoed in low tones.  “The eternal feminine!” And a strange unfathomable light leapt into his eyes, which he raised slightly towards the gilded ceiling, where countless lustres glittered.

“Deceived you, eh?” I said lightly.

His expression changed.  “Deceived me, as you say,” he murmured, with a faint, sad smile, that made me conjure up a vision of a passionate lovely face with cruel eyes.

“Won’t you tell me about it?” I asked, as I tendered him a fresh cigarette, for while we spoke his half-smoked one had been snatched from his mouth by a beautiful Maenad, who whirled off puffing it.

“I reckon you’ll be making copy out of it,” he said, his smile growing whimsical.

“If it’s good enough,” I replied candidly.  “That’s why I am here.”