He had not gone.
He knew of Carnac's success in the world of Art; and how he had alienated his reputed father by an independence revolting to a slave of convention.

He had even bought, not from Carnac, but from a dealer, two of Carnac's pictures and a statue of a riverman.

Somehow the years had had their way with him.

He had at long last realized that material things were not the great things of life, and that imagination, however productive, should be guided by uprightness of soul.
One thing was sure, the boy had never been told who his father was.

That Barouche knew.