"Brings in, hey?" continued Joseph. "Any shot in your locker?"
"How much do you want?"
"Five hundred. I've got one of those bull-dog dealers after me, and if the fellow once gets his teeth in he won't let go while there's a bit of me left. What a crew!"
"I'll write you a line for my notary."
"Have you got a notary?"
"Yes."
"That explains to me why you still make cheeks with pink tones like a perfumer's sign."
Grassou could not help coloring, for Virginie was sitting.
"Take Nature as you find her," said the great painter, going on with his lecture. "Mademoiselle is red-haired. Well, is that a sin? All things are magnificent in painting. Put some vermillion on your palette, and warm up those cheeks; touch in those little brown spots; come, butter it well in. Do you pretend to have more sense than Nature?"
"Look here," said Fougeres, "take my place while I go and write that note."
Vervelle rolled to the table and whispered in Grassou's ear:--
"Won't that country lout spoilt it?"
"If he would only paint the portrait of your Virginie it would be worth a thousand times more than mine," replied Fougeres, vehemently.
Hearing that reply the bourgeois beat a quiet retreat to his wife, who was stupefied by the invasion of this ferocious animal, and very uneasy at his co-operation in her daughter's portrait.
"Here, follow these indications," said Bridau, returning the palette, and taking the note. "I won't thank you. I can go back now to d'Arthez' chateau, where I am doing a dining-room, and Leon de Lora the tops of the doors--masterpieces! Come and see us."
And off he went without taking leave, having had enough of looking at Virginie.
"Who is that man?" asked Madame Vervelle.
"A great artist," answered Grassou.
There was silence for a moment.
"Are you quite sure," said Virginie, "that he has done no harm to my portrait? He frightened me."
"He has only done it good," replied Grassou.
"Well, if he is a great artist, I prefer a great artist like you," said Madame Vervelle.
The ways of genius had ruffled up these orderly bourgeois.
The phase of autumn so pleasantly named "Saint Martin's summer" was just beginning. With the timidity of a neophyte in presence of a man of genius, Vervelle risked giving Fougeres an invitation to come out to his country-house on the following Sunday. He knew, he said, how little attraction a plain bourgeois family could offer to an artist.
"You artists," he continued, "want emotions, great scenes, and witty talk; but you'll find good wines, and I rely on my collection of pictures to compensate an artist like you for the bore of dining with mere merchants."
This form of idolatry, which stroked his innocent self-love, was charming to our poor Pierre Grassou, so little accustomed to such compliments. The honest artist, that atrocious mediocrity, that heart of gold, that loyal soul, that stupid draughtsman, that worthy fellow, decorated by royalty itself with the Legion of honor, put himself under arms to go out to Ville d'Avray and enjoy the last fine days of the year. The painter went modestly by public conveyance, and he could not but admire the beautiful villa of the bottle-dealer, standing in a park of five acres at the summit of Ville d'Avray, commanding a noble view of the landscape. Marry Virginie, and have that beautiful villa some day for his own!
He was received by the Vervelles with an enthusiasm, a joy, a kindliness, a frank bourgeois absurdity which confounded him. It was indeed a day of triumph. The prospective son-in-law was marched about the grounds on the nankeen-colored paths, all raked as they should be for the steps of so great a man. The trees themselves looked brushed and combed, and the lawns had just been mown. The pure country air wafted to the nostrils a most enticing smell of cooking. All things about the mansion seemed to say:
"We have a great artist among us."
Little old Vervelle himself rolled like an apple through his park, the daughter meandered like an eel, the mother followed with dignified step. These three beings never let go for one moment of Pierre Grassou for seven hours. After dinner, the length of which equalled its magnificence, Monsieur and Madame Vervelle reached the moment of their grand theatrical effect,--the opening of the picture gallery illuminated by lamps, the reflections of which were managed with the utmost care. Three neighbours, also retired merchants, an old uncle (from whom were expectations), an elderly Demoiselle Vervelle, and a number of other guests invited to be present at this ovation to a great artist followed Grassou into the picture gallery, all curious to hear his opinion of the famous collection of pere Vervelle, who was fond of oppressing them with the fabulous value of his paintings. The bottle-merchant seemed to have the idea of competing with King Louis- Philippe and the galleries of Versailles.
The pictures, magnificently framed, each bore labels on which was read in black letters on a gold ground:
Rubens Dance of fauns and nymphs
Rembrandt Interior of a dissecting room.