t him escape.

"Not so fast, Monsieur Choucru," he said; "not so fast! Will you answer
me one question before you go?"

"_Eh, mon Dieu_! Monsieur."

"Will you tell me, Monsieur Choucru, what is to prevent me from giving
a view of the best restaurant in Courbevoie?"

Madame Choucru, from behind the _comptoir_, uttered a little scream.

"A design in the _Petit Courier Illustre_, I need scarcely tell you,"
pursued Mueller, with indescribable pomposity, "is in itself sufficient
to make the fortune not only of an establishment, but of a neighborhood.
I am about to make Courbevoie the fashion. The sun of Asnieres, of
Montmorency, of Enghien has set--the sun of Courbevoie is about to rise.
My sketches will produce an unheard-of effect. All Paris will throng to
your fetes next Sunday and Monday--all Paris, with its inexhaustible
appetite for _bifteck aux pommes frites_--all Paris with its
unquenchable thirst for absinthe and Bavarian beer! Now, Monsieur
Choucru, do you begin to understand me?"

"_Mais_, Monsieur, I--I think...."

"You think you do, Monsieur Choucru? Very good. Then will you please to
answer me one more question. What is to prevent me from conferring fame,
fortune, and other benefits too numerous to mention on your excellent
neighbor at the corner of the Place--Monsieur Coquille of the Restaurant
_Croix de Malte_?"

Monsieur Choucru scratched his ear again, stared helplessly at his wife,
and said nothing. Madame looked grave.

"Are we to treat this matter on the footing of a business transaction,
Monsieur!" she asked, somewhat sharply. "Because, if so, let Monsieur at
once name his price for me...."

"'PRICE,' Madame!" interrupted Mueller, with a start of horror. "Gracious
powers! this to me--to Franz Mueller of the _Petit Courier Illustre_!
'No, Madame--you mistake me--you wound me--you touch the honor of the
Fine Arts! Madame, I am incapable of selling my patronage."

Madame clasped her hands; raised her voice; rolled her black eyes; did
everything but burst into tears. She was shocked to have offended
Monsieur! She was profoundly desolated! She implored a thousand pardons!
And then, like a true French-woman of business, she brought back the
conversation to the one important point:--since money was not in
question, upon what consideration would Monsieur accord his preference
to the _Toison d' Or_ instead of to the _Croix de Malte_?

Mueller bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and said:--

"I w