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Chapter XXVII
Two or three weeks passed. One morning, having come to a pause in my work, I thought I would give myself a holiday, and I went to the Louvre. I wandered about looking at the pictures I knew so well, and let my fancy play idly with the emotions they suggested. I sauntered into the long gallery, and there suddenly saw Stroeve. I smiled, for his appearance, so rotund and yet so startled, could never fail to excite a smile, and then as I came nearer I noticed that he seemed singularly disconsolate. He looked woebegone and yet ridiculous, like a man who has fallen into the water with all his clothes on, and, being rescued from death, frightened still, feels that he only looks a fool. Turning round, he stared at me, but I perceived that he did not see me. His round blue eyes looked harassed behind his glasses.
"Stroeve," I said.
He gave a little start, and then smiled, but his smile was rueful.
"Why are you idling in this disgraceful fashion?" I asked gaily.
"It`s a long time since I was at the Louvre. I thought I`d come and see if they had anything new."
"But you told me you had to get a picture finished this week."
"Strickland`s painting in my studio."
"Well?"
"I suggested it myself. He`s not strong enough to go back to his own place yet. I thought we could both paint there. Lots of fellows in the Quarter share a studio. I thought it would be fun. I`ve always thought it would be jolly to have someone to talk to when one was tired of work."
He said all this slowly, detaching statement from statement with a little awkward silence, and he kept his kind, foolish eyes fixed on mine. They were full of tears.
"I don`t think I understand," I said.
"Strickland can`t work with anyone else in the studio."
"Damn it all, it`s your studio. That`s his lookout."
He looked at me pitifully. His lips were trembling.
"What happened?" I asked, rather sharply.
He hesitated and flushed. He glanced unhappily at one of the pictures on the wall.
"He wouldn`t let me go on painting. He told me to get out."
"But why didn`t you tell him to go to hell?"
"He turned me out. I couldn`t very well struggle with him. He threw my hat after me, and locked the door."
I was furious with Strickland, and was indignant with myself, because Dirk Stroeve cut such an absurd figure that I felt inclined to laugh.
"But what did your wife say?"
"She`d gone out to do the marketing."
"Is he going to let her in?"
"I don`t know."
I gazed at Stroeve with perplexity. He stood like a schoolboy with whom a master is finding fault.
"Shall I get rid of Strickland for you?" I asked.
He gave a little start, and his shining face grew very red.
"No. You`d better not do anything."
He nodded to me and walked away. It was clear that for some reason he did not want to discuss the matter. I did not understand.
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