the fortunate moment when his property thus laid by would give him the
imposing income of two thousand francs, to allow himself the otium cum
dignitate of the artist and paint pictures; but oh! what pictures!
true pictures! each a finished picture! chouette, Koxnoff, chocnosoff!
His future, his dreams of happiness, the superlative of his hopes--do
you know what it was? To enter the Institute and obtain the grade of
officer of the Legion of honor; to side down beside Schinner and Leon
de Lora, to reach the Academy before Bridau, to wear a rosette in his
buttonhole! What a dream! It is only commonplace men who think of
everything.

Hearing the sound of several steps on the staircase, Fougeres rubbed
up his hair, buttoned his jacket of bottle-green velveteen, and was
not a little amazed to see, entering his doorway, a simpleton face
vulgarly called in studio slang a "melon." This fruit surmounted
a pumpkin, clothed in blue cloth adorned with a bunch of
tintinnabulating baubles. The melon puffed like a walrus; the pumpkin
advanced on turnips, improperly called legs. A true painter would have
turned the little bottle-vendor off at once, assuring him that he
didn't paint vegetables. This painter looked at his client without a
smile, for Monsieur Vervelle wore a three-thousand-franc diamond in
the bosom of his shirt.

Fougeres glanced at Magus and said: "There's fat in it!" using a slang
term then much in vogue in the studios.

Hearing those words Monsieur Vervelle frowned. The worthy bourgeois
drew after him another complication of vegetables in the persons of
his wife and daughter. The wife had a fine veneer of mahogany on her
face, and in figure she resembled a cocoa-nut, surmounted by a head