It was a fine, sunny, showery day in April. The big studio window was open at the top, and let in a pleasant breeze from the northwest. Things were beginning to look shipshape at last. The big piano, ...

Nobody knew exactly how Svengali lived, and very few knew where (or why). He occupied a roomy dilapidated garret, au sixième, in the Rue Tire-Liard; with a truckle-bed and a pianoforte for furniture, ...

One lovely Monday morning in late September, at about eleven or so, Taffy and the Laird sat in the studio⁠—each opposite his picture, smoking, nursing his knee, and saying nothing. The heaviness of Mo...

Midday had struck. The expected hamper had not turned up in the Place St. Anatole des Arts. All Madame Vinard’s kitchen battery was in readiness; Trilby and Madame Angèle Boisse were in the studio, th...

When Taffy and the Laird went back to the studio in the Place St. Anatole des Arts, and resumed their ordinary life there, it was with a sense of desolation and dull bereavement beyond anything they c...

Behold our three musketeers of the brush once more reunited in Paris, famous, after long years. In emulation of the good Dumas, we will call it “cinq ans après.” It was a little more. Taffy stands for...

Next morning our three friends lay late abed, and breakfasted in their rooms. They had all three passed “white nights”⁠—even the Laird, who had tossed about and pressed a sleepless pillow till dawn, s...

Svengali had died from heart-disease. The cut he had received from Gecko had not apparently (as far as the verdict of a coroner’s inquest could be trusted) had any effect in aggravating his malady or ...

Glossary.⁠—Pioupiou (alias pousse-caillou, alias tourlourou)⁠—a private soldier of the line. Zouzou⁠—a Zouave. Nounou⁠—a wet-nurse with a pretty ribboned cap and long streamers. Toutou⁠—a nondescript ...