"
Elie Magus made a gesture; he bit his thumbs, thinking that he might
have had that picture for five francs.
For several days Pierre walked down from the rue des Martyrs and
stationed himself at the corner of the boulevard opposite to Elie's
shop, whence his eye could rest upon his picture, which did not obtain
any notice from the eyes of the passers along the street. At the end
of a week the picture disappeared; Fougeres walked slowly up and
approached the dealer's shop in a lounging manner. The Jew was at his
door.
"Well, I see you have sold my picture."
"No, here it is," said Magus; "I've framed it, to show it to some one
who fancies he knows about painting."
Fougeres had not the heart to return to the boulevard. He set about
another picture, and spent two months upon it,--eating mouse's meals
and working like a galley-slave.
One evening he went to the boulevard, his feet leading him fatefully
to the dealer's shop. His picture was not to be seen.
"I've sold your picture," said Elie Magus, seeing him.
"For how much?"
"I got back what I gave and a small interest. Make me some Flemish
interiors, a lesson of anatomy, landscapes, and such like, and I'll
buy them of you," said Elie.
Fougeres would fain have taken old Magus in his arms; he regarded him
as a father. He went home with joy in his heart; the great painter
Schinner was mistaken after all! In that immense city of Paris there
were some hearts that beat in unison with Pierre's; his talent was
understood and appreciated.
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