"Very good style—they call that an epitaph—the very best style."
"You don't know anyone who would do that for me cheap? There is my neighbor Monsieur Guerin, the public writer, but he asks the clothes off my back."
Here Rodolphe looked at Marcel, who understood him at once.
"Madame," said the artist, pointing to Rodolphe, "a happy fortune has conducted hither the very person who can be of service to you in this mournful juncture. This gentleman is a renowned poet; you couldn't find a better one."
"I want something very melancholy," said the widow, "and the spelling all right."
"Madame," replied Marcel, "my friend spells like a book. He had all the prizes at school."
"Indeed!" said the widow, "my grand-nephew had just had a prize too; he is only seven years old."
"A very forward child, madame."
"But are you sure that the gentleman can make very melancholy verses?"
"No one better, madame, for he has undergone much sorrow in his life. The papers always find fault with his verses for being too melancholy."