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.”

And he pushed the notary in his evening coat into the street.  At the end of five minutes, they had returned, one of them with the wax-candles and the other with the hoop of a cask.  Then Romantin plunged his hand into a cupboard, and drew forth twenty empty bottles, which he fixed in the form of a crown around the hoop.

He then went downstairs to borrow a ladder from the janitress, after having explained that he had made interest with the old woman by painting the portrait of her cat, exhibited on the easel.

When he returned with the ladder, he said to M. Saval: 

“Are you active?”

The other, without understanding, answered: 

“Why, yes.”

“Well, you just climb up there, and fasten this chandelier for me to the ring of the ceiling.  Then, you put a wax-candle in each bottle, and light it.  I tell you I have a genius for lighting up.  But off with your coat, damn it!  You are just like a Jeames.”

The door was opened brusquely.  A woman appeared, her eyes flashing, and remained standing on the threshold.

Romantin gazed at her with a look of terror.

She waited some seconds, crossing her arms over her breast, and then in a shrill, vibrating, exasperated voice said: 

“Ha! you dirty scoundrel, is this the way you leave me?”

Romantin made no reply.  She went on: 

“Ha! you scoundrel!  You did a nice thing in parking me off to the country.  You’ll soon see the way I’ll settle your jollification.  Yes, I’m going to receive your friends.”