XII

The old draper went to look for Joseph Lebas, and inform him of the

state of affairs. At half-past six, the dining-room immortalized by

the artist saw, united under its skylight, Monsieur and Madame Roguin,

the young painter and his charming Augustine, Joseph Lebas, who found

his happiness in patience, and Mademoiselle Virginie, convalescent

from her headache. Monsieur and Madame Guillaume saw in perspective

both their children married, and the fortunes of the Cat and Racket

once more in skilful hands. Their satisfaction was at its height when,

at dessert, Theodore made them a present of the wonderful picture

which they had failed to see, representing the interior of the old

shop, and to which they all owed so much happiness.

"Isn't it pretty!" cried Guillaume. "And to think that any one would

pay thirty thousand francs for that!"

"Because you can see my lappets in it," said Madame Guillaume.

"And the cloth unrolled!" added Lebas; "you might take it up in your

hand."

"Drapery always comes out well," replied the painter. "We should be

only too happy, we modern artists, if we could touch the perfection of

antique drapery."

"So you like drapery!" cried old Guillaume. "Well, then, by Gad! shake

hands on that, my young friend. Since you can respect trade, we shall

understand each other. And why should it be despised? The world began

with trade, since Adam sold Paradise for an apple. He did not strike a

good bargain though!" And the old man roared with honest laughter,

encouraged by the champagne, which he sent round with a liberal hand.

The band that covered the young artist's eyes was so thick that he

thought his future parents amiable. He was not above enlivening them

by a few jests in the best taste. So he too pleased every one. In the

evening, when the drawing-room, furnished with what Madame Guillaume

called "everything handsome," was deserted, and while she flitted from

the table to the chimney-piece, from the candelabra to the tall

candlesticks, hastily blowing out the wax-lights, the worthy draper,

who was always clear-sighted when money was in question, called

Augustine to him, and seating her on his knee, spoke as follows:--

"My dear child, you shall marry your Sommervieux since you insist; you

may, if you like, risk your capital in happiness. But I am not going

to be hoodwinked by the thirty thousand francs to be made by spoiling

good canvas. Money that is lightly earned is lightly spent. Did I not

hear that hare-brained youngster declare this evening that money was

made round that it might roll. If it is round for spendthrifts, it is

flat for saving folks who pile it up. Now, my child, that fine

gentleman talks of giving you carriages and diamonds! He has money,

let him spend it on you; so be it. It is no concern of mine. But as to

what I can give you, I will not have the crown-pieces I have picked up

with so much toil wasted in carriages and frippery. Those who spend

too fast never grow rich. A hundred thousand crowns, which is your

fortune, will not buy up Paris. It is all very well to look forward to

a few hundred thousand francs to be yours some day; I shall keep you

waiting for them as long as possible, by Gad! So I took your lover

aside, and a man who managed the Lecocq bankruptcy had not much

difficulty in persuading the artist to marry under a settlement of his

wife's money on herself. I will keep an eye on the marriage contract

to see that what he is to settle on you is safely tied up. So now, my

child, I hope to be a grandfather, by Gad! I will begin at once to lay

up for my grandchildren; but swear to me, here and now, never to sign

any papers relating to money without my advice; and if I go soon to

join old Father Chevrel, promise to consult young Lebas, your brother-

in-law."

"Yes, father, I swear it."

At these words, spoken in a gentle voice, the old man kissed his

daughter on both cheeks. That night the lovers slept as soundly as

Monsieur and Madame Guillaume.

Some few months after this memorable Sunday the high altar of Saint-

Leu was the scene of two very different weddings. Augustine and

Theodore appeared in all the radiance of happiness, their eyes beaming

with love, dressed with elegance, while a fine carriage waited for

them. Virginie, who had come in a good hired fly with the rest of the

family, humbly followed her younger sister, dressed in the simplest

fashion like a shadow necessary to the harmony of the picture.

Monsieur Guillaume had exerted himself to the utmost in the church to

get Virginie married before Augustine, but the priests, high and low,

persisted in addressing the more elegant of the two brides. He heard

some of his neighbors highly approving the good sense of Mademoiselle

Virginie, who was making, as they said, the more substantial match,

and remaining faithful to the neighborhood; while they fired a few

taunts, prompted by envy of Augustine, who was marrying an artist and

a man of rank; adding, with a sort of dismay, that if the Guillaumes

were ambitious, there was an end to the business. An old fan-maker

having remarked that such a prodigal would soon bring his wife to

beggary, father Guillaume prided himself /in petto/ for his prudence

in the matter of marriage settlements. In the evening, after a

splendid ball, followed by one of those substantial suppers of which

the memory is dying out in the present generation, Monsieur and Madame

Guillaume remained in a fine house belonging to them in the Rue du

Colombier, where the wedding had been held; Monsieur and Madame Lebas

returned in their fly to the old home in the Rue Saint-Denis, to steer

the good ship Cat and Racket. The artist, intoxicated with happiness,

carried off his beloved Augustine, and eagerly lifting her out of

their carriage when it reached the Rue des Trois-Freres, led her to an

apartment embellished by all the arts.