I had been posing for several Sundays for the “Club” in Paresis Row. At
first, all four of the men came regularly. Then Enfield dropped out,
then Christain, who was out of work, and finally one Sunday when I
arrived I found only Bonnat there. He insisted that I should remain, as,
he said, he was very much in need of a model.
He had been working away, without speaking once to me for some time. It
was funny to watch his face while he worked, making curious facial
expressions and attitudes corresponding to certain expressions and
emotions. When he was through, I went over and looked at the painting,
and I thought it was very wonderful. I said shyly:
“If you like, I’ll take it to some of the dealers I sell Mr. Menna’s
paintings to, and Mr. Bonnat”-- I wanted him to know that I, too, could
paint, but I had never the courage to tell him before all the other
men--“I sometimes sell some of my own, too.”
He turned around slowly and looked at me.
“So you paint, too, do you?”