"At the same time," continued Müller, "if Monsieur Tapotte were to honor
me with a commission for, say, half a dozen family portraits, I would
endeavor to put them in at forty francs apiece--including, at that very
low price, a Revolutionary Deputy, a beauty of the Louis Quinze period,
and a Marshal of France."

"_Tiens_! that's a fair offer enough," said madame. "What say you, _mon
ami_?"

But Monsieur Tapotte, being a cautious man, would say nothing hastily.
He coughed, looked doubtful, declined to commit himself to an opinion,
and presently drew off into a corner for the purpose of holding a
whispered consultation with his wife.

Meanwhile Müller laid aside his brushes and palette, informed me with a
profound bow that my lordship had honored him by sitting as long as was
strictly necessary, and requested my opinion upon the progress of
the work.

I praised it rapturously. You would have thought, to hear me, that for
drawing, breadth, finish, color, composition, chiaroscuro, and every
other merit that a painting could possess, this particular
_chef-d'oeuvre_ excelled all the masterpieces of Europe.

Müller bowed, and bowed, and bowed, like a Chinaman at a visit of
ceremony; He was more than proud; he was overwhelmed, _accablé_, et
caetera, et caetera.

The Tapottes left off whispering, and listened breathlessly.