"And yet, sir, for thirty years I have lived here."
"Oh Lord, sir, I should have died thirty times over! When people live in the Rue Grenetat they should give up society, for you'll grant it is a regular trap to seduce people into such an abominable street. I"——
M. Lupot gave up smiling and rubbing his hands. He moves off from the big man in the spectacles, whose conversation had by no means amused him, and he goes up to a group of young people who seem examining the Belisarius of Mademoiselle Celanire.
"They're admiring my daughter's drawing," said M. Lupot to himself; "I must try to overhear what these artists are saying." The young people certainly made sundry remarks on the performance, plentifully intermixed with sneers of a very unmistakable kind.
"Can you make out what the head is meant for?"
"Not I. I confess I never saw any thing so ridiculous."
"It's Belisarius, my dear fellow."
"Impossible!—it's the portrait of some grocer, some relation, probably, of the family—look at the nose—the mouth—"
"It is intolerable folly to put a frame to such a daub."
"They must be immensely silly."