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 Müller, with a start of horror. "Gracious
powers! this to me--to Franz Müller of the _Petit Courier Illustré_!
'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_?

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

"I will do it, _pour les beaux yeux de Madame_."

And then, in graceful recognition of the little man's rights as owner of
the eyes in question, he bowed to Monsieur Choucru.

Madame was inexpressibly charmed. Monsieur smiled, fidgeted, and cast
longing glances towards the door.

"I have eighty dinners on hand," he began again, "and if M'sieur will