"And the witchery of your personal attractions, madame," said the painter politely.
"Ah!" A pensive smile rewarded him. "The business was still in its infancy, monsieur; yet to-day I have the smartest clientèle in Paris. I might remove to the rue de la Paix to-morrow if I pleased. But, I say, why should I do that? I say, why a reckless rental for the sake of a fashionable address, when the fashionable men and women come to me where I am?"
"You show profound judgment, madame," said Flamant. "Why, indeed!"
"And you, too, will show good judgment, I am convinced," continued madame Aurore, regarding him with approval. "You have an air of intellect. If your eyebrows were elongated a fraction towards the temples—an improvement that might be effected easily enough by regular use of my Persian Pomade—you would acquire the appearance of a born conqueror."
"Alas," sighed Flamant, "my finances forbid my profiting by the tip!"
"Monsieur, you wrong me," murmured the specialist reproachfully. "I was speaking with no professional intent. On the contrary, if you will permit me, I shall take joy in forwarding a pot to you gratis."
"Is it possible?" cried Flamant: "you would really do this for me? You feel for my sufferings so much?"
"Indeed, I regret that I cannot persuade you to reduce the sufferings," she replied. "But tell me why you have selected the vocation of a wine-merchant's clerk."
"Fate, not I, has determined my cul-de-sac in life," rejoined her companion. "It is like this: my father, who lacks an artistic soul, consented to my becoming a painter only upon the understanding that I should gain the Prix de Rome and pursue my studies in Italy free of any expense to him. This being arranged, he agreed to make me a minute allowance in the meanwhile. By a concatenation of catastrophes upon which it is unnecessary to dwell, the Beaux-Arts did not accord the prize to me; and, at the end of last year, my parent reminded me of our compact, with a vigour which nothing but the relationship prevents my describing as 'inhuman'. He insisted that I must bid farewell to aspiration and renounce the brush of an artist for the quill of a clerk! Distraught, I flung myself upon my knees. I implored him to reconsider. My tribulation would have moved a rock—it even moved his heart!"
"He showed you mercy?"