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It's an abominable conspiracy. Monsieur Plumet, I call upon you to give your wife the lie. She has written what is false; confess it! "The frame-maker hid his face in his hands and made no reply. "'What, Plumet, have you nothing to say for me? "Mademoiselle Charnot was leaving the room. "'Where are you going, Mademoiselle? Stay, you will soon see that they lie!
Ashton himself, the celebrated frame-maker of South Audley Street, came in with a somewhat rough-looking young assistant. Mr. Ashton was a florid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration for art was considerably tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of the artists who dealt with him. As a rule, he never left his shop. He waited for people to come to him.
Below the houses are shops, and the first story of Heine's house is a butcher shop, with sides of pork and mutton hanging in the windows; above, where the Heine family must once have lived, a gold-beater and a frame-maker displayed their signs. But did the Heine family really once live there?
Speaking very slowly, he told him to tell the housekeeper that he wanted to see her, and then to go to the frame-maker and ask him to send two of his men round at once. It seemed to him that as the man left the room his eyes wandered in the direction of the screen. Or was that merely his own fancy?
Soon after the purchase of his picture by the lunatic landlord of a fully licensed house, he had discovered that the frame-maker in High Street knew a man who would not be indisposed to buy such pictures as he could paint, and transactions between him and the frame-maker had developed into a regular trade. The usual price paid for canvases was ten pounds, in cash.
The little dressmaker told me that she was engaged to M. Plumet, frame-maker. She told her tale very clearly; a little money put by, you see, out of ten years' wages; one may be careful and yet be taken in; and, alas! all has been lent to a cousin in the cabinetmaking trade, who wanted to set up shop; and now he refuses to pay up. The dowry is in danger, and the marriage in suspense.
Hubbard himself, the celebrated frame-maker of South Audley Street, came in with a somewhat rough-looking young assistant. Mr. Hubbard was a florid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration for art was considerably tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of the artists who dealt with him. As a rule, he never left his shop. He waited for people to come to him.
"Isn't he a little rogue!" she went on, and began to caress the waking baby. Meanwhile Sylvestre had been talking to Plumet at the other end of the room. "Out of the question," said the frame-maker; "we are up to our knees in arrears; twenty orders waiting." "I ask you to oblige me as a friend."
"Well, Billie, come back to the old gang again, eh? How did the country seem? Do much work?" "Not very much. A few things. How's everybody?" "Splutter was in last night. Looking out of sight. Seemed glad to hear that you were coming back soon." "Did she? Penny, did anybody call wanting me to do a ten-thousand-dollar portrait for them?" "No. That frame-maker, though, was here with a bill.
On the fourth floor a smell of glue and sour paste on the landing announced the tenant's profession. To make quite certain there was a card nailed to the door with "Plumet, Frame-Maker." "Plumet? A newly-married couple?" But already Madame Plumet is at the door. It is the same little woman who came to Boule's office. She recognizes me in the dim light of the staircase.
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