‘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, to Rembrandt! Look here, I only came in to pay my respects, but I thank my lucky star for having brought me here. Let us do a little bit of business. Let me have this gem. Anything you like to ask for it—I’ll cover it with gold.’
One could see Bongrand’s back shake, as if his irritation were increasing at each sentence. He curtly interrupted the dealer.
‘Too late; it’s sold.’