Honore--sketches of military life, caricatures full of dash and humour, in
a style that was quite out of the common way, and which yet seemed in some
manner familiar to me. My friend saw that I admired the things. 'They are
my latest acquisitions in the way of art,' he said; they are done by a poor
fellow who lives in a shabby third-floor near the Luxembourg--an Englishman
called Austin. If you admire them so much, you might as well order a set
of them. It would be almost an act of charity.' The name struck me at
once--your brother's Christian name; and then I remembered that
I had been shown some caricature portraits which he had done of his
brother-officers--things exactly in the style of the sketches I had been
looking at. I asked for this Mr. Austin's address, and drove off at once
to find him, with a few lines of introduction from my friend. 'The man is
proud,' he said, 'though he carries his poverty lightly enough.'"
"Poor Austin!" sighed Clarissa.
"I need not weary you with minute details. I found this Mr. Austin, and at
once recognized your brother; though he is much altered--very much altered.
He did not know me until afterwards, when I told him my name, and recalled
our acquaintance. There was every sign of poverty: he looked worn and
haggard; his clothes were shabby; his painting-room was the common
sitting-room; his wife was seated by the open window patching a child's
frock; his two children were playing about the room.
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