No, Fourget had his reputation to sustain; but there was that rascal Lepoittevin across the street——

Cartaret went to the rascal, a most amiable man, who would buy no more than would Fourget. He was willing, however, to have the picture left there on the bare chance of picking up a sale—and a commission—and there Cartaret left it.

Houdon wormed the truth out of him as easily as if Cartaret had come back carrying the picture under his arm: the young American was too disconsolate to hide his chagrin. Houdon was at first incredulous and then overcome; he asked his dear friend to purchase brandy for the two of them at the Café Pantheon: such treatment of a veritable masterpiece was too much for his sensitive nerves.

With some difficulty, Cartaret got rid of the composer. On a bench in the Luxembourg Gardens, he took account of his resources. They were shockingly slender and, if they were to last him any time at all, he must exercise the most stringent economy. He must buy no more brandy for musical geniuses. Indeed, he must buy no more café dinners for himself....

It struck him, as a happy thought, that he might save a little if he lived on such cold solids as he could buy at the fruit-stand and pâtisseries and such liquids as he might warm in a tin-cup over his lamp. Better men than he was had lived thus in the Quarter, and Cartaret, as the thought took shape, rather enjoyed the prospect: it made him feel as if he were another martyr to Art, or as if—though he was not clear as to the logic of this—he were another martyr to Love. He considered going to Père la Chaise and putting violets on the tomb of Héloise and Abelard; but he decided that he could not afford the tram-fare, and he was already too tired to walk, so he made his scanty purchases instead, and had rather a good time doing it.

He passed Chitta on his way up the stairs to his room, with his arms full of edibles, and he thought that she frowned disapproval. He supposed she would tell her mistress scornfully, and he hoped that her mistress would understand and pity him.

He got a board and nailed it to the sill of one of the rear windows. On that he stored his food and, contemplating it, felt like a successful housekeeper.

CHAPTER VII
OF DOMESTIC ECONOMY, OF DAY-DREAMS, AND OF A FAR COUNTRY AND ITS SOVEREIGN LADY

L’indiscrétion d’un de ces amis officieux qui ne sauraient garder inédite la nouvelle susceptible de vous causer un chagrin.—Murger: Scènes de la Vie de Bohème.