Nor did Gabriel shrink from his father's eye, stern and scornful as it was, but rather braved the glance with an impudent leer.
Right, however, in the midst of the group, strode the Provencal, and laying his hand very gently on the boy's shoulder, he said: "My son, come with me." Gabriel looked irresolute, and glanced at his companions.

Delighted at the prospect of a scene, they now gathered round, with countenances and gestures that seemed little disposed to acknowledge the parental authority.
"Gentlemen," said Dalibard, turning a shade more pale, for though morally most resolute, physically he was not brave,--"gentlemen, I must beg you to excuse me; this child is my son!" "But Art is his mother," replied a tall, raw-boned young man, with long tawny hair streaming down from a hat very much battered.

"At the juvenile age, the child is consigned to the mother! Have I said it ?" and he turned round theatrically to his comrades.
"Bravo!" cried the rest, clapping their hands.
"Down with all tyrants and fathers! hip, hip, Hurrah!" and the hideous diapason nearly split the drum of the ears into which it resounded.
"Gabriel," whispered the father, "you had better follow me, had you not?
Reflect!" So saying, he bowed low to the unpropitious assembly, and as if yielding the victory, stepped aside and crossed over towards Bond Street.
Before the din of derision and triumph died away, Dalibard looked back, and saw Gabriel behind him.
"Approach, sir," he said; and as the boy stood still, he added, "I promise peace if you will accept it." "Peace, then," answered Gabriel, and he joined his father's side.
"So," said Dalibard, "when I consented to your studying Art, as you call it, under your mother's most respectable brother, I ought to have contemplated what would be the natural and becoming companions of the rising Raphael I have given to the world." "I own, sir," replied Gabriel, demurely, "that they are riotous fellows; but some of them are clever, and--" "And excessively drunk," interrupted Dalibard, examining the gait of his son.

"Do you learn that accomplishment also, by way of steadying your hand for the easel ?" "No, sir; I like wine well enough, but I would not be drunk for the world.

I see people when they are drunk are mere fools,--let out their secrets, and show themselves up." "Well said," replied the father, almost admiringly.