" cried the artist; and Max took him upstairs.

Joseph came down wildly enthusiastic. Max whispered a word to the
Rabouilleuse, who took the old man into the embrasure of a window,
where Joseph heard her say in a low voice, but still so that he could
hear the words:--

"Your nephew is a painter; you don't care for those pictures; be kind,
and give them to him."

"It seems," said Jean-Jacques, leaning on Flore's arm to reach the
place were Joseph was standing in ecstasy before an Albano, "--it seems
that you are a painter--"

"Only a 'rapin,'" said Joseph.

"What may that be?" asked Flore.

"A beginner," replied Joseph.

"Well," continued Jean-Jacques, "if these pictures can be of any use
to you in your business, I give them to you,--but without the frames.
Oh! the frames are gilt, and besides, they are very funny; I will
put--"

"Well done, uncle!" cried Joseph, enchanted; "I'll make you copies of
the same dimensions, which you can put into the frames."

"But that will take your time, and you will want canvas and colors,"
said Flore. "You will have to spend money. Come, Pere Rouget, offer
your nephew a hundred francs for each copy; here are twenty-seven
pictures, and I think there are eleven very big ones in the garret
which ought to cost double,--call the whole four thousand francs. Oh,
yes," she went on, turning to Joseph, "your uncle can well afford to
pay you four thousand francs for making the copies, since he keeps the
frames--but bless me! you'll want frames; and they say frames cost
more than pictures; there's more gold on them. Answer, monsieur," she
continued, shaking the old man's arm. "Hein? it isn't dear; your
nephew will take four thousand francs for new pictures in the place of
the old ones. It is," she whispered in his ear, "a very good way to
give him four thousand francs; he doesn't look to me very flush--"

"Well, nephew, I will pay you four thousand francs for the copies--"

"No, no!" said the honest Joseph; "four thousand francs and the
pictures, that's too much; the pictures, don't you see, are
valuable--"

"Accept, simpleton!" said Flore; "he is your uncle, you know."

"Very good, I accept," said Joseph, bewildered by the luck that had
befallen him; for he had recognized a Perugino.

The result was that the artist beamed with satisfaction as he went out
of the house with the Rabouilleuse on his arm, all of which helped
Maxence's plans immensely. Neither Flore, nor Rouget, nor Max