The cloth purchased, Anatole Kahn said gently:
'If monsieur will spare but a few more moments I
will show him something which I do not sell —a
thing of very great beauty, of genius. I am poors
yet this treasure I do not sell although it is now worth
a great deal of money.5 And he led the way into his
simple office, bare save for a roll-top American desk,
a stool, a shallow cupboard and a picture.
'So/ said Beauvais, 'so it was you who bought
it!'
Kahn nodded: 'Yes, at Fleuret's, monsieur.3
Tor five sous because I was needing bread and
you, apparently were a good judge of art. And now
it is worth . . .'
'To me nothing in money, monsieur, because I
will never sell it.*
Beauvais stared at the middle-aged over-dressed
tradesman: 'Then you must be an imbecile,' he
remarked, 'Or an idealist, which is much the same
thing. Who can say how long my price will keep up.
To-day I am famous, to-morrow . . . who knows!
The mistral is not more erratic than the critics. Take
the money, my friend, take it while you can get it!'
advised Beauvais who since he had become a rich
man was assuming the air of a hardened cynic. In
reality he was both flattered and pleased, for if those
beloved of the gods die young, those beloved of the
arts live on as children. Turning, he studied the
picture with interest: 'Fine,' he murmured, 'ah, yes,
it is really fine! There is splendid technique in the
treatment of that sunshine; . . ." Then he suddenly
seated himself on the stool: 'I have reason to be grate-
ful to this town, I suppose, though my nature, thank
God, is very ungrateful; . . . still, Saint Loup has
undoubtedly buttered my bread, and I find le pain
benit de la gaiete tastes less stale when it is spread
thickly with butter! Is it not strange that the more
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