‘This struck us as cold. Every face was blank with dismay. We realised that our circumstances were desperate, now. There was a long silence. Finally, Millet said with a sigh:
‘“Nothing occurs to me—nothing. Suggest something, lads.”
‘There was no response, unless a mournful silence may be called a response. Carl got up, and walked nervously up and down a while, then said:
‘“It’s a shame! Look at these canvases: stacks and stacks of as good pictures as anybody in Europe paints—I don’t care who he is. Yes, and plenty of lounging strangers have said the same—or nearly that, anyway.”
‘“But didn’t buy,” Millet said.
‘“No matter, they said it; and it’s true, too. Look at your ‘Angelus’ there! Will anybody tell me—”
‘“Pah, Carl—My ‘Angelus!’ I was offered five francs for it.”
‘“When?”
‘“Who offered it?”
‘“Where is he?”