"At the same time," continued Müller, "if Monsieur Tapotte were to honor me with a commission for, say, half a dozen family portraits, I would endeavor to put them in at forty francs apiece--including, at that very low price, a Revolutionary Deputy, a beauty of the Louis Quinze period, and a Marshal of France." "_Tiens_! that's a fair offer enough," said madame. "What say you, _mon ami_?" But Monsieur Tapotte, being a cautious man, would say nothing hastily. He coughed, looked doubtful, declined to commit himself to an opinion, and presently drew off into a corner for the purpose of holding a whispered consultation with his wife. Meanwhile Müller laid aside his brushes and palette, informed me with a profound bow that my lordship had honored him by sitting as long as was strictly necessary, and requested my opinion upon the progress of the work. I praised it rapturously. You would have thought, to hear me, that for drawing, breadth, finish, color, composition, chiaroscuro, and every other merit that a painting could possess, this particular _chef-d'oeuvre_ excelled all the masterpieces of Europe. Müller bowed, and bowed, and bowed, like a Chinaman at a visit of ceremony; He was more than proud; he was overwhelmed, _accablé_, et caetera, et caetera. The Tapottes left off whispering, and listened breathlessly. "He is evidently a great painter, _not' jeune homme_!" said Madame in one of her large whispers. To which Monsieur replied as audibly:--"_Ça se voit, ma femme--sacre nom d'une pipe_!" "Milford will do me the favor to sit again on Friday?" said Müller, as I took up my hat and gloves. I replied with infinite condescension that I would endeavor to do so. I then made the stiffest of stiff bows to the excellent Tapottes, and, ushered to the door by Müller, took my departure majestically in the character of Lord Smithfield. CHAPTER XXIII. THE QUARTIER LATIN. The dear old Quartier Latin of my time--the Quartier Latin of Balzac, of Béranger, of Henry Murger---the Quartier Latin where Franz Müller had his studio; where Messieurs Gustave; Jules, and Adrien gave their unparalleled _soirées dansantes_; where I first met my ex-flame Josephine--exists no longer. It has been improved off the face of the earth, and with it such a gay bizarre, improvident world of youth and folly as shall never again be met together on the banks of the Seine.