‘Astonishing!’
‘But true just the same. Well, you remember how the pictures went up. Money? We didn’t know what to do with it. There’s a man in Paris to-day who owns seventy Millet pictures. He paid us two million francs for them. And as for the bushels of sketches and studies which Millet shovelled out during the six weeks that we were on the road, well, it would astonish you to know the figure we sell them at nowadays—that is, when we consent to let one go!’
‘It is a wonderful history, perfectly wonderful!’
‘Yes—it amounts to that.’
‘Whatever became of Millet?’
‘Can you keep a secret?’
‘I can.’
‘Do you remember the man I called your attention to in the dining room to-day? That was Francois Millet.’
‘Great—’
‘Scott! Yes. For once they didn’t starve a genius to death and then put into other pockets the rewards he should have had himself. This song-bird was not allowed to pipe out its heart unheard and then be paid with the cold pomp of a big funeral. We looked out for that.’