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young man entered and half abstractedly took a seat at her table。
She had already moved towards the comptoir to pay her few sous；
when； chancing to look up in a mirror which hung above the counter；
reflecting the interior of the cafe； she saw the stranger； after
casting a hurried glance around him； remove from her plate the
broken roll and even the crumbs she had left； and as hurriedly
sweep them into his pocket…handkerchief。 There was nothing very
strange in this； she had seen something like it before in these
humbler cafes；it was a crib for the birds in the Tuileries
Gardens； or the poor artist's substitute for rubber in correcting
his crayon drawing！ But there was a singular flushing of his
handsome face in the act that stirred her with a strange pity； made
her own cheek hot with sympathy； and compelled her to look at him
more attentively。 The back that was turned towards her was broad…
shouldered and symmetrical； and showed a frame that seemed to
require stronger nourishment than the simple coffee and roll he had
ordered and was devouring slowly。 His clothes； well made though
worn； fitted him in a smart； soldier…like way； and accentuated his
decided military bearing。 The singular use of his left hand in
lifting his cup made her uneasy； until a slight movement revealed
the fact that his right sleeve was empty and pinned to his coat。
He was one…armed。 She turned her compassionate eyes aside； yet
lingered to make a few purchases at the counter； as he paid his
bill and walked away。 But she was surprised to see that he
tendered the waiter the unexampled gratuity of a sou。 Perhaps he
was some eccentric Englishman； he certainly did not look like a
Frenchman。
She had quite forgotten the incident； and in the afternoon had
strolled with a few fellow pupils into the galleries of the Louvre。
It was 〃copying…day；〃 and as her friends loitered around the easels
of the different students with the easy consciousness of being
themselves 〃artists；〃 she strolled on somewhat abstractedly before
them。 Her own art was too serious to permit her much sympathy with
another； and in the chatter of her companions with the young
painters a certain levity disturbed her。 Suddenly she stopped。
She had reached a less frequented room； there was a single easel at
one side； but the stool before it was empty； and its late occupant
was standing in a recess by the window； with his back towards her。
He had drawn a silk handkerchief from his pocket。 She recognized
his square shoulders； she recognized the handkerchief； and as he
unrolled it she recognized the fragments of her morning's breakfast
as he began to eat them。 It was the one…armed man。
She remained so motionless and breathless that he finished his scant
meal without noticing her； and even resumed his place before the
easel without being aware of her presence。 The noise of approaching
feet gave a fresh impulse to her own； and she moved towards him。
But he was evidently accustomed to these interruptions； and worked
on steadily without turning his head。 As the other footsteps passed
her she was emboldened to take a position behind him and glance at
his work。 It was an architectural study of one of Canaletto's
palaces。 Even her inexperienced eyes were struck with its vigor and
fidelity。 But she was also conscious of a sense of disappointment。
Why was he notlike the otherscopying one of the masterpieces？
Becoming at last aware of a motionless woman behind him； he rose；
and with a slight gesture of courtesy and a half…hesitating 〃Vous
verrez mieux la； mademoiselle；〃 moved to one side。
〃Thank you；〃 said Miss Maynard in English； 〃but I did not want to
disturb you。〃
He glanced quickly at her face for the first time。 〃Ah； you are
English！〃 he said。
〃No。 I am American。〃
His face lightened。 〃So am I。〃
〃I thought so；〃 she said。
〃From my bad French？〃
〃No。 Because you did not look up to see if the woman you were
polite to was old or young。〃
He smiled。 〃And you； mademoiselle；you did not murmur a compliment
to the copy over the artist's back。〃
She smiled； too； yet with a little pang over the bread。 But she
was relieved to see that he evidently had not recognized her。 〃You
are modest；〃 she said； 〃you do not attempt masterpieces。〃
〃Oh； no！ The giants like Titian and Corregio must be served with
both hands。 I have only one；〃 he said half lightly； half sadly。
〃But you have been a soldier；〃 she said with quick intuition。
〃Not much。 Only during our war；until I was compelled to handle
nothing larger than a palette knife。 Then I came home to New York；
and； as I was no use there； I came here to study。〃
〃I am from South Carolina；〃 she said quietly； with a rising color。
He put his palette down； and glanced at her black dress。 〃Yes；〃
she went on doggedly； 〃my father lost all his property； and was
killed in battle with the Northerners。 I am an orphan；a pupil of
the Conservatoire。〃 It was never her custom to allude to her
family or her lost fortunes； she knew not why she did it now； but
something impelled her to rid her mind of it to him at once。 Yet
she was pained at his grave and pitying face。
〃I am very sorry；〃 he said simply。 Then； after a pause； he added；
with a gentle smile； 〃At all events you and I will not quarrel here
under the wings of the French eagles that shelter us both。〃
〃I only wanted to explain why I was alone in Paris；〃 she said； a
little less aggressively。
He replied by unhooking his palette； which was ingeniously fastened
by a strap over his shoulder under the missing arm； and opened a
portfolio of sketches at his side。 〃Perhaps they may interest you
more than the copy； which I have attempted only to get at this
man's method。 They are sketches I have done here。〃
There was a buttress of Notre Dame； a black arch of the Pont Neuf；
part of an old courtyard in the Faubourg St。 Germain；all very
fresh and striking。 Yet； with the recollection of his poverty in
her mind； she could not help saying； 〃But if you copied one of
those masterpieces； you know you could sell it。 There is always a
demand for that work。〃
〃Yes；〃 he replied； 〃but these help me in my line； which is
architectural study。 It is； perhaps； not very ambitious；〃 he added
thoughtfully； 〃but；〃 brightening up again； 〃I sell these sketches；
too。 They are quite marketable； I assure you。〃
Helen's heart sank again。 She remembered now to have seen such
sketchesshe doubted not they were hisin the cheap shops in the
Rue Poissoniere； ticketed at a few francs each。 She was silent as
he patiently turned them over。 Suddenly she uttered a little cry。
He had just uncovered a little sketch of what seemed at first sight
only a confused cluster of roof tops； dormer windows； and chimneys；
level with the sky…line。 But it was bathed in the white sunshine
of Paris； against the blue sky she knew so well。 There； too； were