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Monsieur Choucru now came upon the scene; a short, rosy, round-faced little man in a white flat cap and bibbed apron like an elderly cherub that had taken to cookery. He hung back upon the threshold, wiping his forehead, and evidently unwilling to show himself in his shirt-sleeves.
As we sat at desert, Müller pulled out his book and pencilled a rapid but flattering sketch of the dining-room interior, developing a perspective as long as the Rue de Rivoli, and a mobilier at least equal in splendor to that of the Trois Frères. At sight of this chef d'oeuvre, Madame Choucru was moved almost to tears.
You will of course wish to express your sense of the compliment paid to your house by adding your name to the subscription list of the Petit Courier Illustré?" "Oh, by by all means with pleasure," faltered the propriétaire. "For how many copies, Monsieur Choucru? Shall we say six?" Monsieur looked at Madame. Madame nodded. Müller took out his pocket-book, and waited, pencil in hand.
"One moment more, my dear Monsieur Choucru," said Müller, slipping his hand affectionately through the little man's arm. "For myself, as I have already told you, I can accept nothing but I am bound in honor not to neglect the interests of the journal I represent.
"Mais, M'sieur explain yourself" ... stammered the propriétaire. "You know who I am, Monsieur Choucru?" "No, M'sieur not in the least." "I am Müller Franz Müller landscape painter, portrait painter, historical painter, caricaturist, artist en chef to the Petit Courier Illustré" "Hein! M'sieur est peintre!" "Yes, Monsieur Choucru and I offer you my protection."
"Ah, Madame!" "And M'sieur Choucru shall make you one of his famous cheese soufflés. Tiens, mon bon, go down and prepare a cheese soufflé for two." Müller smote his forehead distractedly. "For two!" he cried. "Heavens! I had forgotten my aunt and my cousin!" Madame looked up inquiringly. "Monsieur has forgotten something?" "Two somethings, Madame two somebodies!
What is to prevent me from conferring fame, fortune, and other benefits too numerous to mention on your excellent neighbor at the corner of the Place Monsieur Coquille of the Restaurant Croix de Malte?" Monsieur Choucru scratched his ear again, stared helplessly at his wife, and said nothing. Madame looked grave.
"Heavens!" he exclaimed, in a very audible aside, "did you hear? She is his wife! She is Madame Choucru?" "Well, and what of that?" "What of that, indeed? Mais, mon ami, how can you ask the question? Have you no eyes? Look at her! Such a remarkably handsome woman such a tournure such eyes such a figure for an illustration! Only conceive the effect of Madame Choucru in medallion!"
Ah, Heaven! if Monsieur could only figure to himself her admiration for his beau talent! But alas! that was impossible as impossible as that Monsieur Choucru should ever repay this unheard-of obligation! Müller laid his hand upon his heart, and bowed profoundly. "Ah! Madame," he said, "it is not to Monsieur Choucru that I look for repayment it is to you." "To me, Monsieur? Dieu merci!
All Paris will throng to your fêtes next Sunday and Monday all Paris, with its inexhaustible appetite for bifteck aux pommes frites all Paris with its unquenchable thirst for absinthe and Bavarian beer! Now, Monsieur Choucru, do you begin to understand me?" "Mais, Monsieur, I I think...." "You think you do, Monsieur Choucru? Very good. Then will you please to answer me one more question.
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