Meanwhile the Jew let himself fall into the arm chair, and was just going to cry out at its hardness, when he remembered that it was one which he himself had sold to Colline for a deputy's speech.

As the Jew sat down, his pockets re-echoed with a silvery sound; melodious symphony, which threw the four friends into a reverie of delight.
"The accompaniment seems pretty," said Rodolphe aside to Marcel.

"Now for the air!" "Monsieur Marcel," said Medicis, "I have merely come to make your fortune; that is to say, I offer you a superb opportunity of making your entry into the artistic world.

Art, you know, is a barren route, of which glory is the oasis." "Father Medicis," cried Marcel, on the tenter-hooks of impatience, "in the name of your revered patron, St.Fifty-percent, be brief!" "Here it is," continued Medicis, "a rich amateur, who is collecting a gallery destined to make the tour of Europe, has charged me to procure him a series of remarkable works.

I come to offer you admission into this museum--in a word, to buy your 'Passage of the Red Sea.'" "Money down ?" asked Marcel.
"Specie," replied the Jew, making the orchestra pockets strike up.
"Do you accept this serious offer ?" asked Colline.
"Of course I do!" shouted Rodolphe, "don't you see, you wretch, that he is talking of 'tin'?
Is there nothing sacred for you, atheist that you are ?" Colline mounted on a table and assumed the attitude of Harpocrates, the God of Silence.
"Push on, Medicis!" said Marcel, exhibiting his picture.