irtuously red, and the feet of her mother. The
faces of these three beings wore, as they looked round the studio, an
air of happiness which bespoke in them a respectable enthusiasm for Art.

"So it is you, monsieur, who are going to take our likenesses?" said the
father, assuming a jaunty air.

"Yes, monsieur," replied Grassou.

"Vervelle, he has the cross!" whispered the wife to the husband while
the painter's back was turned.

"Should I be likely to have our portraits painted by an artist who
wasn't decorated?" returned the former bottle-dealer.

Elie Magus here bowed to the Vervelle family and went away. Grassou
accompanied him to the landing.

"There's no one but you who would fish up such whales."

"One hundred thousand francs of 'dot'!"

"Yes, but what a family!"

"Three hundred thousand francs of expectations, a house in the rue
Boucherat, and a country-house at Ville d'Avray!"

"Bottles and corks! bottles and corks!" said the painter; "they set my
teeth on edge."

"Safe from want for the rest of your days," said Elie Magus as he
departed.

That idea entered the head of Pierre Grassou as the daylight had burst
into his garret that morning.

While he posed the father of the young person, he thought the
bottle-dealer had a good countenance, and he admired the face full
of violent tones. The mother and daughter hovered about the easel,
marvelling at all his preparations; they evidently thought him a
demigod. This visible admiration pleased Fougeres. The golden calf threw
upon the family its fantastic reflections.

"You must earn lots of money; but of course you don't spend it as you
get it," said the mother.

"No, madame," replied the painter; "I don't spend it; I have not the
means to amuse myself. My notary invests my money; he knows what I have;
as soon as I have taken him the money I never think of it again."

"I've always been told," cried old Vervelle, "that artists were baskets
with holes in them."

"Who is your notary--if it is not indiscreet to ask?" said Madame
Vervelle.

"A good fellow, all round," replied Grassou. "His name is Cardot."

"Well, well! if that isn't a joke!" exclaimed Vervelle. "Cardot is our
notary too."

"Take care! don't move," said the painter.

"Do pray hold still, Antenor," said the wife. "If you move about you'll
make monsieur miss; you should just see him working, and then you'd
understand."

"Oh! why didn't you have me taught the arts?" said Mademoisel