aken it in hand."
Wherewith he goes off, taking the picture with him in his carriage. He
trots it round among his amateurs, among whom he has spread the rumour
that he has just discovered an extraordinary painter. One of the
amateurs bites at last, and asks the price.

"'Five thousand."

'"What, five thousand francs for the picture of a man whose name hasn't
the least notoriety? Are you playing the fool with me?"

'"Look here, I'll make you a proposal; I'll sell it you for five
thousand francs, and I'll sign an agreement to take it back in a
twelvemonth at six thousand, if you no longer care for it."

Of course the amateur is tempted. What does he risk after all? In
reality it's a good speculation, and so he buys. After that Naudet loses
no time, but disposes in a similar manner of nine or ten paintings by
the same man during the course of the year. Vanity gets mingled with the
hope of gain, the prices go up, the pictures get regularly quoted, so
that when Naudet returns to see his amateur, the latter, instead of
returning the picture, buys another one for eight thousand francs. And
the prices continue to go up, and painting degenerates into something
shady, a kind of gold mine situated on the heights of Montmartre,
promoted by a number of bankers, and around which there is a constant
battle of bank-notes.'

Claude was growing indignant, but Jory thought it all very clever, when
there came a knock at the door. Bongrand, who went to open it, uttered a
cry of surprise.

'Naudet, as I live! We were just talking about you.'

Naudet, very correctly dressed, without a speck of mud on him, despite
the horrible weather, bowed and came in with the reverential politeness
of a man of society entering a church.

'Very pleased--feel flattered, indeed, dear master. And you only spoke
well of me, I'm sure of it.'

'Not at all, Naudet, not at all,' said Bongrand, in a quiet tone. 'We
were saying that your manner of trading was giving us a nice generation
of artists--tricksters crossed with dishonest business men.'

Naudet smiled, without losing his composure.

'The remark is harsh, but so charming! Never mind, never mind, dear
master, nothing that you say offends me.'

And, dropping into ecstasy before the picture of the two little women at
needlework:

'Ah! Good heavens, I didn't know this, it's a little marvel! Ah! that
light, that broad substantial treatment! One has to go back to Rembrandt
for anything like it; yes