he resumed, nodding his head with an
air of triumph. "Others may run after dinners and balls; as for me, this
is the pleasure I give myself for my Carnival."

"But if this painting is really so precious," replied I, "it ought to be
worth a high price."

"Eh! eh!" said M. Antoine, with an air of proud indifference. "In good
times, a good judge might value it at somewhere about twenty thousand
francs."

I started back.

"And you have bought it?" cried I.

"For nothing," replied he, lowering his voice. "These brokers are asses;
mine mistook this for a student's copy; he let me have it for fifty
louis, ready money! This morning I took them to him, and now he wishes to
be off the bargain."

"This morning!" repeated I, involuntarily casting my eyes on the letter
containing the refusal that M. Antoine had made me write to his son's
widow, which was still on the little table.

He took no notice of my exclamation, and went on contemplating the work
of Jordaens in an ecstasy.

"What a knowledge of chiaroscuro!" he murmured, biting his last crust in
delight. "What relief! what fire! Where can one find such transparency of
color! such magical lights! such force! such nature!"

As I was listening to him in silence, he mistook my astonishment for
admiration, and clapped me on the shoulder.

"You are dazzled," said he merrily; "you did not expect such a treasure!
What do you say to the bargain I have made?"

"Pardon me," replied I, gravely; "but I think you might have done
better."

M. Antoine raised his head.

"How!" cried he; "do you take me for a man likely to be deceived about
the merit or value of a painting?"

"I neither doubt your taste nor your skill; but I cannot help thinking
that, for the price of this picture of a family party, you might have
had--"

"What then?"

"The family itself, sir."

The old amateur cast a look at me, not of anger, but of contempt. In his
eyes I had evidently just proved myself a barbarian, incapable of
understanding the arts, and unworthy of enjoying them. He got up without
answering me, hastily took up the Jordaens, and replaced it in its
hiding-place behind the prints.

It was a sort of dismissal; I took leave of him, and went away.

Seven o'clock.--When I come in again, I find my water boiling over my
lamp, and I busy myself in grinding my Mocha, and setting out my
coffee-things.

The getting coffee ready is the most delicate and most attractive of
domestic operatio