For two days after I was confined to my room by a slight illness, but on the third, as I neared the furniture-shop, I noticed Sticks disconsolately seated in what might be called his best chair, seeing that the cover, though faded, was whole, and it lacked but one arm. This total disregard for the sanctity of his wares struck me as ominous, but confident, from the boy's description of me, that I should not be recognized, I went boldly forward. What was my astonishment to see him as I passed start from his seat and exclaim, "Is it you?" "The boy has betrayed us," said I to my inner self. "Perhaps he was bribed by another half-franc," replied he, as if sneering at my liberality. "Let us see what old Sticks will do," I remarked in order to change the subject. Thereupon we stopped before the excited man, who was trying vainly to calm himself while he asked nervously, "Can I show monsieur something? Something cheap, _cheap_--a bargain, artistic, grand, beautiful." "Not this morning, thanks." "Ah, this is not kind. Enter a moment: the opportunity is there; do not disappoint it." He stood before me, and laying one knotty hand on my sleeve gently pushed me over the threshold, while he murmured, "A bargain, beautiful, cheap." Mephistopheles could not have looked more persuasive as, pointing his other hand--which matched his wares by the loss of a finger--to a worm-eaten cabinet, he leered at me with the only eye he had left. "I could not carry it," I said with a shrug. "I will send the article," he answered, eagerly pulling a soiled bit of paper and the end of a pencil from his pocket. "What is monsieur's address?" "He is anxious to know where I live: that is evident," said I to my usual confidant as I moved on and stopped before a table which had once been inlaid, but which now presented the appearance of a painted beauty whose rouge has dropped off. "Monsieur's choice is wise," said the merchant, following me. "Real Louis Quatorze: and besides its beauty it has a secret drawer to recommend it. That, however, I can only show you in the privacy of your own apartment." "I think he wants to steal the portrait," I remarked to the invisible presence accompanying me. Then I asked the dealer, watching him closely the while, "Have you any pictures to sell?" Sticks coughed nervously, looked about him, and walked the whole length of his shop, dusting the things with his red cap, before he spoke. He must have been much preoccupied thus rashly to destroy the venerable appearance of his stock. Then he said, "Perhaps _you_ might have one you would sell?" "I suppose you mean the one I bought of you. Why do you want it? In what does its value lie? What is the secret connected with it?" The old man could not repress an involuntary "Hush!" Then recovering himself, he asked, "Will you sell it? I offer double what you gave." I shook my head negatively. "Name your price," he begged eagerly.