"The Editor of the Petit Courier Illustré is one of the best fellows in the world, and occasionally (when my pockets represent that vacuum which Nature very properly abhors) he advances me a couple of Napoleons. I wipe out the score from time to time by furnishing a design for the paper. Now to-day, you see, I'm in luck. I shall pay off two obligations at once--to say nothing of Monsieur Choucru's six-fold subscription to the P.C., on which the publishers will allow me a douceur of thirty francs. Now, confess that I'm a man of genius!"
In less than a quarter of an hour we were all four established round one of Madame Choucru's comfortable little dining-tables, in a snug recess at the farthest end of the salon. Here, being well out of reach of our hostess's black eyes, Müller assumed all the airs of a liberal entertainer. He hung up ma cousine's bonnet; fetched a footstool for ma tante; criticised the sauces; presided over the wine; cut jokes with the waiter; and pretended to have ordered every dish beforehand. The stewed kidneys with mushrooms were provided especially for Madame Marotte; the fricandeau was selected in honor of Mam'selle Marie (had he not an innate presentiment that she loved fricandeau?); and as for the soles au gratin, he swore, in defiance of probability and all the laws of nature, that they were the very fish we had just caught in the Seine. By-and-by came Monsieur Choucru's famous cheese soufflé; and then, with a dish of fruit, four cups of coffee, and four glasses of liqueure, the banquet came to an end.
As we sat at desert, Müller pulled out his book and pencilled a rapid but flattering sketch of the dining-room interior, developing a perspective as long as the Rue de Rivoli, and a mobilier at least equal in splendor to that of the Trois Frères.
At sight of this chef d'oeuvre, Madame Choucru was moved almost to tears. Ah, Heaven! if Monsieur could only figure to himself her admiration for his beau talent! But alas! that was impossible--as impossible as that Monsieur Choucru should ever repay this unheard-of obligation!
Müller laid his hand upon his heart, and bowed profoundly.
"Ah! Madame," he said, "it is not to Monsieur Choucru that I look for repayment--it is to you."
"To me, Monsieur? Dieu merci! Monsieur se moque de moi!"
And the Dame de Comptoir, intrenched behind her fruits and liqueure bottles, shot a Parthian glance from under her black eye-lashes, and made believe to blush.
"Yes, Madame, to you. I only ask permission to come again very soon, for the purpose of executing a little portrait of Madame--a little portrait which, alas! must fail to render adequate justice to such a multitude of charms."
And with this choice compliment, Müller bowed again, took his leave, bestowed a whole franc upon the astonished waiter, and departed from the Toison d'Or in an atmosphere of glory.