“Sell die bictures,” he said, with tears in his eyes.
Next morning, at six o’clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took down the paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand five hundred francs were made out in correct form:—
“I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the receipt of two thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus for the four pictures sold to him, the said sum being appropriated to the use of M. Pons. The first picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a woman; the second, likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School; the third, a Dutch landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a Holy Family by an unknown master of the Florentine School.”
Remonencq’s receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a Greuze, a Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being disguised as pictures of the French and Flemish schools.
“Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value,” said Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over.
“They are worth something,” said Remonencq. “I would willingly give you a hundred thousand francs for the lot.”
Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures of the proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the less valuable pictures in Schmucke’s bedroom.
No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great pictures than he went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence of settling accounts. But he pleaded poverty, he found fault with the pictures, they needed rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty thousand francs by way of commission, and finally dazzled her with the sheets of paper on which the Bank of France engraves the words “One thousand francs” in capital letters. Magus thereupon condemned Remonencq to pay the like sum to La Cibot, by lending him the money on the security of his four pictures, which he took with him as a guarantee. So glorious were they, that Magus could not bring himself to part with them, and next day he bought them of Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above the original price, and an invoice was duly made out for the four. Mme. Cibot, the richer by sixty-eight thousand francs, once more swore her two accomplices to absolute secrecy. Then she asked the Jew’s advice. She wanted to invest the money in such a way that no one should know of it.
“Buy shares in the Orleans Railway,” said he; “they are thirty francs below par, you will double your capital in three years. They will give you scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a portfolio.”
“Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business who acts for M. Pons’ family. He wants to know how much you will give him for the whole bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him now.”