n to oblige young men of talent like
yourself. Oh, for the matter of that, you've got talent, and I keep on
telling them so--nay, shouting it to them--but what's the good? They
won't nibble, they won't nibble!'

He was trying the emotional dodge; then, with the spirit of a man about
to do something rash: 'Well, it sha'n't be said that I came in to waste
your time. What do you want for that rough sketch?'

Claude, still irritated, was painting nervously. He dryly answered,
without even turning his head: 'Twenty francs.'

'Nonsense; twenty francs! you must be mad. You sold me the others
ten francs a-piece--and to-day I won't give a copper more than eight
francs.'

As a rule the painter closed with him at once, ashamed and humbled at
this miserable chaffering, glad also to get a little money now and
then. But this time he was obstinate, and took to insulting the
picture-dealer, who, giving tit for tat, all at once dropped the formal
'you' to assume the glib 'thou,' denied his talent, overwhelmed him with
invective, and taxed him with ingratitude. Meanwhile, however, he had
taken from his pocket three successive five-franc pieces, which, as
if playing at chuck-farthing, he flung from a distance upon the table,
where they rattled among the crockery.

'One, two, three--not one more, dost hear? for there is already one too
many, and I'll take care to get it back; I'll deduct it from something
else of thine, as I live. Fifteen francs for that! Thou art wrong, my
lad, and thou'lt be sorry for this dirty trick.'

Quite exhausted, Claude let him take down the little canvas, which
disappeared as if by magic in his capacious green coat. Had it dropped
into a special pocket, or was it reposing on Papa Malgras' ample chest?
Not the slightest protuberance indicated its whereabouts.

Having accomplished his stroke of business, Papa Malgras abruptly calmed
down and went towards the door. But he suddenly changed his mind and
came back. 'Just listen, Lantier,' he said, in the honeyest of tones; 'I
want a lobster painted. You really owe me that much after fleecing me.
I'll bring you the lobster, you'll paint me a bit of still life from
it, and keep it for your pains. You can eat it with your friends. It's
settled, isn't it?'

At this proposal Sandoz and Dubuche, who had hitherto listened
inquisitively, burst into such loud laughter that the picture-dealer
himself became gay. Those confounded painters, they did themselves no
good,