I start you again next term with ten thousand dollars; show yourself a man, and double it, and then (if you still wish to go to Paris, which I know you won't) I'll let you go.

But to let you run away as if you were whipped, is what I am too proud to do." My heart leaped at this proposal, and then sank again.

It seemed easier to paint a Meissonier on the spot than to win ten thousand dollars on that mimic stock exchange.

Nor could I help reflecting on the singularity of such a test for a man's capacity to be a painter.

I ventured even to comment on this.
He sighed deeply.