"Three hundred thousand francs of expectations, a house in the rue Boucherat, and a country-house at Ville d'Avray!"
"Bottles and corks! bottles and corks!" said the painter; "they set my teeth on edge."
"Safe from want for the rest of your days," said Elie Magus as he departed.
That idea entered the head of Pierre Grassou as the daylight had burst into his garret that morning.
While he posed the father of the young person, he thought the bottle-dealer had a good countenance, and he admired the face full of violent tones. The mother and daughter hovered about the easel, marvelling at all his preparations; they evidently thought him a demigod. This visible admiration pleased Fougeres. The golden calf threw upon the family its fantastic reflections.
"You must earn lots of money; but of course you don't spend it as you get it," said the mother.
"No, madame," replied the painter; "I don't spend it; I have not the means to amuse myself. My notary invests my money; he knows what I have; as soon as I have taken him the money I never think of it again."
"I've always been told," cried old Vervelle, "that artists were baskets with holes in them."
"Who is your notary—if it is not indiscreet to ask?" said Madame Vervelle.
"A good fellow, all round," replied Grassou. "His name is Cardot."