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that time in Paris a painter named Gleyre, a Swiss who had a course of instruction in drawing for about six francs a month. It was very cheap, I had not a sou, and it was to his atelier that I was directed. There, I met Sisley, Monet, and Bazile. It was our mutual poverty which created a union, and it was the effect of those gatherings of ours which brought to notice the Impressionist School. Individually, we had neither the force nor the courage to promote the idea. The school had as its foundation our friendships, discussions, and poverty. And we struggled to uphold one another. In 1872, Berthe Moret joined our group, securing some funds wherewith we arranged a sale of our work at the Hotel Drouot. It created a furore. An old habitué of the famous auction rooms helped us immeasurably by his condemnation. He was one of those daily frequenters of the place who revelled in the kihd of atmosphere one finds only in a sales-room. He entered our salon and, calling to a crony who was passing through the lobby, said: 'Come and see the horrors.' The other entered and remarked protestingly, 'But they are not so bad.' The old fellow was indignant; 'They are disgusting,' and he hastened to gather sympathizers to his side. Two camps were formed and a veritable fracas ensued, joined from time to time by the passers-by. Attendants were summoned to restore order and they were obliged to close the doors just about the time that peace was restored. The sale of our work took place next day, and our canvases sold for an average of twenty-five francs apiece. Yes, but from that day on we had our supporters."

The evocation of these youthful and turbulent memories kindled the eyes of Renoir, which shone brilliantly with the retrospection. In spite of his stricken limbs he seemed no longer infirm in his chair. That aspect of him faded from me before the animation of his eyes. What vivacity they gave off, what intelligence he still possessed!

I then asked to see some of his paintings and he instructed his servant to accompany me. She led the way to a bedroom, in one corner of which the walls contained two rows of canvases without stretchers. Others were laid upon the eider-down cover of the bed. Often the same canvas contained three or four different studies, and sometimes a fragment had been cut from a corner. These paintings, worth of twenty, thirty, and forty thousand francs, were left hanging there like washing out to dry. Among them there were many portraits.