noon
I had no intention of intruding upon him . Nor was I a psychological `` specimen , '' though I began to suspect that `` that other monsieur '' WAS . I had been painting in various parts of the forest , studying the early morning along the eastern fringe and moving deeper in as the day advanced . For the stillness and warmth of noon I went to the very woodland heart , and in the late afternoon moved westward to a glade -- a chance arena open to the sky , the scene of my most audacious endeavours , for here I was trying to paint foliage luminous under those long shafts of sunshine which grow thinner but ruddier toward sunset . A path closely bordered by underbrush wound its way to the glade , crossed it , then wandered away into shady dingles again ; and with my easel pitched in the mouth of this path , I sat at work , one late afternoon , wonderful for its still loveliness . The path debouched abruptly on the glade and was so narrow that when I leaned back my elbows were in the bushes , and it needed care to keep my palette from being smirched by the leaves ; though there was more room for my canvas and easel , as I had placed them at arm 's length before me , fairly in the open . I had the ambition to paint a picture here -- to do the whole thing in the woods from day to day , instead of taking notes for the studio -- and was at work upon a very foolish experiment : I had thought to render the light -- broken by the branches and foliage -- with broken brush-work , a short stroke of the kind that stung an elder painter to swear that its practitioners painted in shaking fear of the concierge appearing for the studio rent .