not the ideas of this country. We want to know what we are about when we
marry."

"How big a portion does your daughter want?"

M. Nioche stared, as if he wondered what was coming next; but he
promptly recovered himself, at a venture, and replied that he knew a
very nice young man, employed by an insurance company, who would content
himself with fifteen thousand francs.

"Let your daughter paint half a dozen pictures for me, and she shall
have her dowry."

"Half a dozen pictures--her dowry! Monsieur is not speaking
inconsiderately?"

"If she will make me six or eight copies in the Louvre as pretty as that
Madonna, I will pay her the same price," said Newman.

Poor M. Nioche was speechless a moment, with amazement and gratitude,
and then he seized Newman's hand, pressed it between his own ten
fingers, and gazed at him with watery eyes. "As pretty as that? They
shall be a thousand times prettier--they shall be magnificent, sublime.
Ah, if I only knew how to paint, myself, sir, so that I might lend a
hand! What can I do to thank you? Voyons!" And he pressed his forehead
while he tried to think of something.

"Oh, you have thanked me enough," said Newman.

"Ah, here it is, sir!" cried M. Nioche. "To express my gratitude, I will