"'Just for this reason,' I replied. 'M. Franzius, who wrote these things, is not a shopman who sells pianos; he is a poet. He would be offended if I offered him money for his productions, for he would know that I did it for charity's sake. I want you to buy these things from him. I will give you the money to do so, and, by way of commission, I will buy a piano from you. My only condition is that you come with me now in my carriage and see M. Franzius, and pay him the money yourself. Of course, you will have to publish the things, too; but I will give you the money to do that as well. Here are a thousand francs, which you are to give M. Franzius. Send one of your pianos round to No. 14, Place Vendôme, M. le Vicomte de Chatellan's. And now, if you are ready, we will start.'
"He came like a lamb. The purchase of the piano had put him into a very good humour. He seemed to look upon the thing as a practical joke; and the idea of paying an unknown musician a thousand francs for three pieces of music seemed to tickle him immensely, for he kept repeating the sum over and chuckling to himself the whole way to the Rue Dijon.
"Franzius was in bed and asleep when we got there. I led Flandrin right up to the attic; and you may imagine Franzius's feelings when he woke up and found us in his room—the best music-publisher in Paris standing at the foot of his bed waiting to offer him a thousand francs for his 'Lieder'! A thousand francs down! Oh, there is nothing like money! It was just as if I had opened a window in his life and let in spring. I saw him grow younger under my eyes as he sat up in bed unconscious of everything but the great idea that luck had come at last and some hand had opened the door of his cage. Even old Flandrin was a bit moved, I think. Ah, well! I bundled Flandrin off when the business was done, and then I made Franzius write a note to the Closerie de Lilas people, telling them that at the end of the week he was leaving there, and then I told him my plan. You know old Fauchard, the forest-keeper's cottage? It's only half a mile from here; it's right in the forest. Well, he has a room to spare, and he will put Franzius up for twelve francs a week. He will be free to write his music——"
"Ah, Toto," cried Eloise, who had been trying to in a word for the last two minutes, "how good of you!"
"Good of me! Why, I have only done what pleased myself! It's a debt. The man saved my life—but no matter about that. Get your hat and come with me, and we will go to Fauchard's and make arrangements about the room."
CHAPTER XXVI THE TURRET ROOM
Fauchard, the ranger's, cottage lay at the meeting of two drives; all the trees here were pines, and the air was filled with their balsam.
It was, even in 1869, an old-fashioned cottage, set back in a clearing amidst the trees. The tall pines seemed to have stepped back to give it room, and were eternally blowing their compliments to it. Ah, they were fine fellows to live amongst, those pine-trees, true noblemen of the forest, erect as grenadiers, spruce, perfumed; and the blue sky looked never so beautiful as when seen over their tops.