to console him. The next morning at seven o'clock Fougeres was
at his easel working over the rejected picture; he warmed the colors; he
made the corrections suggested by Schinner, he touched up his figures.
Then, disgusted with such patching, he carried the picture to Elie
Magus. Elie Magus, a sort of Dutch-Flemish-Belgian, had three reasons
for being what he became,--rich and avaricious. Coming last from
Bordeaux, he was just starting in Paris, selling old pictures and living
on the boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle. Fougeres, who relied on his palette
to go to the baker's, bravely ate bread and nuts, or bread and milk, or
bread and cherries, or bread and cheese, according to the seasons. Elie
Magus, to whom Pierre offered his first picture, eyed it for some time
and then gave him fifteen francs.

"With fifteen francs a year coming in, and a thousand francs for
expenses," said Fougeres, smiling, "a man will go fast and far."

Elie Magus made a gesture; he bit his thumbs, thinking that he might
have had that picture for five francs.

For several days Pierre walked down from the rue des Martyrs and
stationed himself at the corner of the boulevard opposite to Elie's
shop, whence his eye could rest upon his picture, which did not obtain
any notice from the eyes of the passers along the street. At the end of
a week the picture disappeared; Fougeres walked slowly up and approached
the dealer's shop in a lounging manner. The Jew was at his door.

"Well, I see you have sold my picture."

"No, here it is," said Magus; "I've framed it, to show it to some one
who fancies he knows about painting."

Fougeres had not the heart to return to the boulevard. He set about
another picture, and spent two months upon it,--eating mouse's meals and
working like a galley-slave.

One evening he went to the boulevard, his feet leading him fatefully to
the dealer's shop. His picture was not to be seen.

"I've sold your picture," said Elie Magus, seeing him.

"For how much?"

"I got back what I gave and a small interest. Make me some Flemish
interiors, a lesson of anatomy, landscapes, and such like, and I'll buy
them of you," said Elie.

Fougeres would fain have taken old Magus in his arms; he regarded him as
a father. He went home with joy in his heart; the great painter Schinner
was mistaken after all! In that immense city of Paris there were some
hearts that beat in unison with Pierre's; his talent was understood and
appreciated. The poor