"That is Monsieur le Marquis."

"A marquis?" said Christopher in English, which the old woman
fortunately did not understand. "Oh, then he's not the butler!"



CHAPTER IV


Early one morning, before Christopher Newman was dressed, a little old
man was ushered into his apartment, followed by a youth in a blouse,
bearing a picture in a brilliant frame. Newman, among the distractions
of Paris, had forgotten M. Nioche and his accomplished daughter; but
this was an effective reminder.

"I am afraid you had given me up, sir," said the old man, after many
apologies and salutations. "We have made you wait so many days. You
accused us, perhaps, of inconstancy of bad faith. But behold me at last!
And behold also the pretty Madonna. Place it on a chair, my friend, in
a good light, so that monsieur may admire it." And M. Nioche, addressing
his companion, helped him to dispose the work of art.

It had been endued with a layer of varnish an inch thick and its frame,
of an elaborate pattern, was at least a foot wide. It glittered and
twinkled in the morning light, and looked, to Newman's eyes, wonderfully
splendid and precious. It seemed to him a very happy purchase, and he
felt rich in the possession of it. He stood looking at it complacently,
while he proceeded with his toilet, and M. Nioche, who had dismissed his
own attendant, hovered near, smiling and rubbing his hands.