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For a while； he thought that he had hit upon a way of withdrawing his son from such an existence。 The relatives in Berlin had visited the Desnoyers in their castle of Villeblanche。 With good…natured superiority； Karl von Hartrott had appreciated the rich and rather absurd accumulations of his brother…in…law。 They were not bad； he admitted that they gave a certain cachet to the home in Paris and to the castle。 They smacked of the possessions of titled nobility。 But Germany！ 。 。 。 The comforts and luxuries in his country！ 。 。 。 He just wished his brother…in…law to admire the way he lived and the noble friendships that embellished his opulence。 And so he insisted in his letters that the Desnoyers family should return their visit。 This change of environment might tone Julio down a little。 Perhaps his ambition might waken on seeing the diligence of his cousins； each with a career。 The Frenchman had； besides； an underlying belief in the more corrupt influence of Paris as compared with the purity of the customs in Patriarchal Germany。
They were there four months。 In a little while Desnoyers felt ready to retreat。 Each to his own kind； he would never be able to understand such people。 Exceedingly amiable； with an abject amiability and evident desire to please； but constantly blundering through a tactless desire to make their grandeur felt。 The high… toned friends of Hartrott emphasized their love for France； but it was the pious love that a weak and mischievous child inspires； needing protection。 And they would accompany their affability with all manner of inopportune memories of the wars in which France had been conquered。 Everything in Germanya monument； a railroad station； a simple dining…room device； instantly gave rise to glorious comparisons。 〃In France； you do not have this；〃 〃Of course； you never saw anything like this in America。〃
Don Marcelo came away fatigued by so much condescension； and his wife and daughter refused to be convinced that the elegance of Berlin could be superior to Paris。 Chichi； with audacious sacrilege； scandalized her cousins by declaring that she could not abide the corseted officers with immovable monocle； who bowed to the women with such automatic rigidity； blending their gallantries with an air of superiority。
Julio； guided by his cousins； was saturated in the virtuous atmosphere of Berlin。 With the oldest； 〃The Sage；〃 he had nothing to do。 He was a poor creature devoted to his books who patronized all the family with a protecting air。 It was the others； the sub… lieutenants or military students； who proudly showed him the rounds of German joy。
Julio was accordingly introduced to all the night restaurants imitations of those in Paris； but on a much larger scale。 The women who in Paris might be counted by the dozens appeared here in hundreds。 The scandalous drunkenness here never came by chance； but always by design as an indispensable part of the gaiety。 All was grandiose； glittering； colossal。 The libertines diverted themselves in platoons； the public got drunk in companies； the harlots presented themselves in regiments。 He felt a sensation of disgust before these timid and servile females； accustomed to blows； who were so eagerly trying to reimburse themselves for the losses and exposures of their business。 For him； it was impossible to celebrate with hoarse ha…has； like his cousins； the discomfiture of these women when they realized that they had wasted so many hours without accomplishing more than abundant drinking。 The gross obscenity； so public and noisy； like a parade of riches； was loathsome to Julio。 〃There is nothing like this in Paris；〃 his cousins repeatedly exulted as they admired the stupendous salons； the hundreds of men and women in pairs； the thousands of tipplers。 〃No； there certainly was nothing like that in Paris。〃 He was sick of such boundless pretension。 He seemed to be attending a fiesta of hungry mariners anxious at one swoop to make amends for all former privations。 Like his father； he longed to get away。 It offended his aesthetic sense。
Don Marcelo returned from this visit with melancholy resignation。 Those people had undoubtedly made great strides。 He was not such a blind patriot that he could not admit what was so evident。 Within a few years they had transformed their country； and their industry was astonishing 。 。 。 but； well 。 。 。 it was simply impossible to have anything to do with them。 Each to his own； but may they never take a notion to envy their neighbor！ 。 。 。 Then he immediately repelled this last suspicion with the optimism of a business man。
〃They are going to be very rich；〃 he thought。 〃Their affairs are prospering； and he that is rich does not hunt quarrels。 That war of which some crazy fools are always dreaming would be an impossible thing。〃
Young Desnoyers renewed his Parisian existence； living entirely in the studio and going less and less to his father's home。 Dona Luisa began to speak of a certain Argensola； a very learned young Spaniard； believing that his counsels might prove most helpful to Julio。 She did not know exactly whether this new companion was friend； master or servant。 The studio habitues also had their doubts。 The literary ones always spoke of Argensola as a painter。 The painters recognized only his ability as a man of letters。 He was among those who used to come up to the studio of winter afternoons； attracted by the ruddy glow of the stove and the wines secretly provided by the mother； holding forth authoritatively before the often…renewed bottle and the box of cigars lying open on the table。 One night； he slept on the divan； as he had no regular quarters。 After that first night； he lived entirely in the studio。
Julio soon discovered in him an admirable reflex of his own personality。 He knew that Argensola had come third…class from Madrid with twenty francs in his pocket； in order to 〃capture glory；〃 to use his own words。 Upon observing that the Spaniard was painting with as much difficulty as himself； with the same wooden and childish strokes； which are so characteristic of the make… believe artists and pot…boilers； the routine workers concerned themselves with color and other rank fads。 Argensola was a psychological artist； a painter of souls。 And his disciple； felt astonished and almost displeased on learning what a comparatively simple thing it was to paint a soul。 Upon a bloodless countenance； with a chin as sharp as a dagger； the gifted Spaniard would trace a pair of nearly round eyes； and at the centre of each pupil he would aim a white brush stroke； a point of light 。 。 。 the soul。 Then； planting himself before the canvas； he would proceed to classify this soul with his inexhaustible imagination； attributing to it almost every kind of stress and extremity。 So great was the sway of his rapture that Julio； too； was able to see all that the artist flattered himself into believing that he had put into the owlish eyes。 He； also； would paint souls 。 。 。 souls of women。
In spite of the ease with which he developed his psychological creations； Argensola preferred to talk； stretched on a divan； or to read； hugging the fire while his friend and protector was outsid