“One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!” said the little Mme. Sonet. “But you really ought to honor the memory of a friend who left you all his fortune.”
The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a matter of fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet minister. His widow, however, had given the commission to Stidmann; people were disgusted with the tawdriness of the project, and it was refused. The three figures at that period represented the three days of July which brought the eminent minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot had turned the Three Glorious Days—“les trois glorieuses”—into the Army, Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the sepulchre of the late lamented Charles Keller; and here again Stidmann took the commission. In the eleven years that followed, the sketch had been modified to suit all kinds of requirements, and now in Vitelot’s fresh tracing they reappeared as Music, Sculpture, and Painting.
“It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of setting it up; for it will take six months,” said Vitelot. “Here is the estimate and the order-form—seven thousand francs, sketch in plaster not included.”
“If M. Schmucke would like marble,” put in Sonet (marble being his special department), “it would cost twelve thousand francs, and monsieur would immortalize himself as well as his friend.”
Topinard turned to Vitelot.
“I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will,” he whispered, “and the relatives are likely to come by their property. Go and speak to M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless creature has not a farthing.”
“This is the kind of customer that you always bring us,” said Mme. Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent.
Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to the Rue de Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent back.
“Do not leaf me,” Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him safe into Mme. Sauvage’s hands, and wanted to go.
“It is four o’clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to dinner. My wife is a box-opener—she will not know what has become of me. The theatre opens at a quarter to six, you know.”