"'PRICE,' Madame!" interrupted Müller, with a start of horror. "Gracious powers! this to me--to Franz Müller of the _Petit Courier Illustré_! 'No, Madame--you mistake me--you wound me--you touch the honor of the Fine Arts! Madame, I am incapable of selling my patronage." Madame clasped her hands; raised her voice; rolled her black eyes; did everything but burst into tears. She was shocked to have offended Monsieur! She was profoundly desolated! She implored a thousand pardons! And then, like a true French-woman of business, she brought back the conversation to the one important point:--since money was not in question, upon what consideration would Monsieur accord his preference to the _Toison d' Or_ instead of to the _Croix de Malte_? Müller bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and said:-- "I will do it, _pour les beaux yeux de Madame_." And then, in graceful recognition of the little man's rights as owner of the eyes in question, he bowed to Monsieur Choucru. Madame was inexpressibly charmed. Monsieur smiled, fidgeted, and cast longing glances towards the door. "I have eighty dinners on hand," he began again, "and if M'sieur will excuse me...." "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. 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. "Eh--_parbleu_!--let it be for six, then," said Monsieur Choucru, somewhat reluctantly. Müller made the entry, shut up the pocket-book, and shook hands boisterously with his victim. "My dear Monsieur Choucru," he said, "I cannot tell you how gratifying this is to my feelings, or with what disinterested satisfaction I shall make your establishment known to the Parisian public. You shall be immortalized, my dear fellow--positively immortalized!" "_Bien obligé, M'sieur--bien obligé_. Will you not let my wife offer you a glass of liqueure?" "Liqueure, _mon cher_!" exclaimed Müller, with an outburst of frank cordiality--"hang liqueure!--WE'LL DINE WITH YOU!" "Monsieur shall be heartily welcome to the best dinner the _Toison d'Or_ can send up; and his friend also," said Madame, with her sweetest smile. "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?"