"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 Illustré_, I need scarcely tell you,"
pursued Müller, 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 Asnières, 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 fêtes 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,