"From first to last."

"That's enough. Mention a painting from time to time, speak of a novel
here and there and add:

"'Superb! Extraordinary! Delightful technique! Wonderfully powerful!' In
that way you can always get along. I know that those two are very blase
about everything, but admiration always pleases an artist."

Sunday morning they left for Poissy.

Just a few steps from the station, at the end of the church square, they
found Meissonier's property. After passing through a low door, painted
red, which led into a beautiful alley of vines, the journalist stopped
and, turning toward his companion, asked:

"What is your idea of Meissonier?"

Patissot hesitated. At last he decided: "A little man, well groomed,
clean shaven, a soldierly appearance." The other smiled: "All right,
come along." A quaint building in the form of a chalet appeared to the
left; and to the right side, almost opposite, was the main house. It was
a strange-looking building, where there was a mixture of everything, a
mingling of Gothic fortress, manor, villa, hut, residence, cathedral,
mosque, pyramid, a weird combination of Eastern and Western
architecture. The style was complicated enough to set a classical
architect crazy, and yet there was something whimsical and pretty about
it. It had been invented and built under the direction of the artist.

They went in; a collection of trunks encumbered a little parlor. A
little man appeared, dressed in a jumper. The striking thing about him
was his beard. He bowed to the journalist, and said: "My dear sir, I
hope that you will excuse me; I only returned yesterday, and everything
is all upset here. Please be seated." The other refused, excusing
himself: "My dear master, I only dropped in to pay my respects while
passing by." Patissot, very much embarrassed, was bowing at every
word of his friend's, as though moving automatically, and he murmured,
stammering: "What a su--su--superb property!" The artist, flattered,
smiled, and suggested visiting it.

He led them first to a little pavilion of feudal aspect, where his
former studio was. Then they crossed a parlor, a dining-room, a
vestibule full of beautiful works of art, of beautiful Beauvais,
Gobelin and Flanders tapestries. But the strange external luxury
of ornamentation became, inside, a revel of immense stairways. A
magnificent grand stairway, a secret stairway in one tower, a servants'
stairway in another, stairways everywhere! Patissot