t marry a man of her own class; that every one was
punished sooner or later for having climbed too high; that love could
so little endure under the worries of a household, that both husband and
wife needed sound good qualities to be happy, that it would not do for
one to be far in advance of the other, because, above everything, they
must understand each other; if a man spoke Greek and his wife Latin,
they might come to die of hunger. He had himself invented this sort
of adage. And he compared such marriages to old-fashioned materials of
mixed silk and wool. Still, there is so much vanity at the bottom of
man's heart that the prudence of the pilot who steered the Cat and
Racket so wisely gave way before Madame Roguin's aggressive volubility.
Austere Madame Guillaume was the first to see in her daughter's
affection a reason for abdicating her principles and for consenting to
receive Monsieur de Sommervieux, whom she promised herself she would put
under severe inquisition.

The old draper went to look for Joseph Lebas, and inform him of the
state of affairs. At half-past six, the dining-room immortalized by the
artist saw, united under its skylight, Monsieur and Madame Roguin, the
young painter and his charming Augustine, Joseph Lebas, who found his
happiness in patience, and Mademoiselle Virginie, convalescent from her
headache. Monsieur and Madame Guillaume saw in perspective both their
children married, and the fortunes of the Cat and Racket once more in
skilful hands. Their satisfaction was at its height when, at dessert,
Theodore made them a present of the wonderful picture which they had
failed to see, representing the interior of the old shop, and to which
they all owed so much happiness.

"Isn't it pretty!" cried Guillaume. "And to think that any one would pay
thirty thousand francs for that!"

"Because you can see my lappets in it," said Madame Guillaume.

"And the cloth unrolled!" added Lebas; "you might take it up in your
hand."

"Drapery always comes out well," replied the painter. "We should be
only too happy, we modern artists, if we could touch the perfection of
antique drapery."

"So you like drapery!" cried old Guillaume. "Well, then, by Gad! shake
hands on that, my young friend. Since you can respect trade, we shall
understand each other. And why should it be despised? The world began
with trade, since Adam sold Paradise for an apple. He did not strike
a good bargain though!" And the old man roare