"I've got three orders from New York. When they're finished, I'm going
back to France."
Osmond could not at once recall himself, even for his boy. Peter seemed
only a figure of the night, familiarly dear, and yet unrelated to the
great dream that swept across the sky with banners. Peter spoke again
bluntly.
"I shall paint again all right. You needn't worry. It's got hold of me."
Then they shook hands.