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cry of terror. it was horrible to think of all the suffering she
must have endured.
Philip knew that on the days Foinet came to the studio
he lunched at a little restaurant in the Rue d’Odessa, and
he hurried his own meal so that he could go and wait out-
side till the painter came out. Philip walked up and down
the crowded street and at last saw Monsieur Foinet walking,
with bent head, towards him; Philip was very nervous, but
he forced himself to go up to him.
‘Pardon, monsieur, I should like to speak to you for one
moment.’
Foinet gave him a rapid glance, recognised him, but did
not smile a greeting.
‘Speak,’ he said.
‘I’ve been working here nearly two years now under you.
I wanted to ask you to tell me frankly if you think it worth
while for me to continue.’
Philip’s voice was trembling a little. Foinet walked on
without looking up. Philip, watching his face, saw no trace
of expression upon it.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m very poor. If I have no talent I would sooner do some-
thing else.’
‘Don’t you know if you have talent?’
‘All my friends know they have talent, but I am aware
some of them are mistaken.’
Foinet’s bitter mouth outlined the shadow of a smile, and
he asked:
‘Do you live near here?’

00 Of Human Bondage