"And very valuable. A Turkish vizier gave it to Horace Vernet, and he
gave it to me when he had done with it. I am a pupil of his."

"Are you a pupil of Vernet's?"

"I am proud to be," said the artist. "Wretch that I am!" he muttered to
himself, "I deny my gods and masters!"

"You have reason to be proud, my young friend," replied the delegate
donning the dressing-gown with the illustrious origin.

"Hang up Monsieur Blancheron's coat in the wardrobe," said Schaunard to
his friend, with a significant wink.

"Ain't he too good?" whispered Marcel as he pounced on his prey, and
nodded towards Blancheron. "If you could only keep a piece of him."

"I'll try; but do you dress yourself, and cut. Come back by ten; I will
keep him till then. Above all, bring me something in your pocket."

"I'll bring you a pineapple," said Marcel as he evaporated.

He dressed himself hastily; the dress-coat fit him like a glove. Then he
went out by the second door of the studio.

Schaunard set himself to work. When it was fairly night, Monsieur
Blancheron heard the clock strike six, and remembered that he had not
dined. He informed Schaunard of the fact.