Romantin was the first to enter, and, ascending the stairs, he opened a door, and lighted a match and then a candle. They found themselves in an immense apartment, the furniture of which consisted of three chairs, two easels, and a few sketches standing on the ground along the walls. M. Saval remained standing at the door somewhat astonished. The painter remarked: “Here you are! we've got to the spot; but everything has yet to be done.” Then, examining the high, bare apartment, its ceiling disappearing in the darkness, he said: “We might make a great deal out of this studio.” He walked round it, surveying it with the utmost attention, then went on: “I know someone who might easily give a helping hand. Women are incomparable for hanging drapery. But I sent her to the country for to-day in order to get her off my hands this evening. It is not that she bores me, but she is too much lacking in the ways of good society. It would be embarrassing to my guests.” He reflected for a few seconds, and then added: “She is a good girl, but not easy to deal with. If she knew that I was holding a reception, she would tear out my eyes.” M. Saval had not even moved; he did not understand. The artist came over to him. “Since I have invited you, you will assist ma about something.” The notary said emphatically: “Make any use of me you please. I am at your disposal.” Romantin took off his jacket. “Well, citizen, to work!' We are first going to clean up.” He went to the back of the easel, on which there was a canvas representing a cat, and seized a very worn-out broom. “I say! Just brush up while I look after the lighting.” M. Saval took the broom, inspected it, and then began to sweep the floor very awkwardly, raising a whirlwind of dust. Romantin, disgusted, stopped him: “Deuce take it! you don't know how to sweep the floor! Look at me!” And he began to roll before him a heap of grayish sweepings, as if he had done nothing else all his life. Then, he gave bark the broom to the notary, who imitated him. In five minutes, such a cloud of dust filled the studio that Rormantin asked: “Where are you? I can't see you any longer.” M. Saval, who was coughing, came near to him. The painter said: “How would you set about making a chandelier?” The other, surprised, asked: “What chandelier?” “Why, a chandelier to light the room--a chandelier with wax-candles.” The notary did not understand. He answered: “I don't know.” The painter began to jump about, cracking his fingers. “Well, monseigneur, I have found out a way.” Then he went on more calmly: “Have you got five francs about you?” M. Saval replied: “Why, yes.” The artist said: “Well! you'll go out and buy for me five francs' worth of wax-candles while I go and see the cooper.”