get it," said the mother.

"No, madame," replied the painter; "I don't spend it; I have not the
means to amuse myself. My notary invests my money; he knows what I
have; as soon as I have taken him the money I never think of it
again."

"I've always been told," cried old Vervelle, "that artists were
baskets with holes in them."

"Who is your notary--if it is not indiscreet to ask?" said Madame
Vervelle.

"A good fellow, all round," replied Grassou. "His name is Cardot."

"Well, well! if that isn't a joke!" exclaimed Vervelle. "Cardot is our
notary too."

"Take care! don't move," said the painter.

"Do pray hold still, Antenor," said the wife. "If you move about
you'll make monsieur miss; you should just see him working, and then
you'd understand."

"Oh! why didn't you have me taught the arts?" said Mademoiselle
Vervelle to her parents.

"Virginie," said her mother, "a young person ought not to learn
certain things. When you are married--well, till then, keep quiet."