III.
The aged artist sat in his luxurious studio surrounded by his masterpieces—that is, by the pictures he had never been able to sell.
The gem of the collection stood on an easel in the middle of the room; while a connoisseur, hat in hand, inspected it closely, enthusiastically, breathlessly. Then, coming over to where the artist was resting, he sat down opposite to him and in a voice trembling with emotion asked, "Tell me, how do you mix your colours?"
There was a deep silence, almost painful in its intensity. A drawing-pin fell with a deafening crash.
The venerable painter stood up with a calm and leonine expression. "I use an ivory palette knife," he said.