The aged artist sat in his luxurious studio surrounded by his
masterpieces--that is, by the pictures he had never been able to sell.
The gem of the collection stood on an easel in the middle of the room;
while a connoisseur, hat in hand, inspected it closely,
enthusiastically, breathlessly. Then, coming over to where the artist
was resting, he sat down opposite to him and in a voice trembling with
emotion asked, "Tell me, how _do_ you mix your colours?"
There was a deep silence, almost painful in its intensity. A drawing-pin
fell with a deafening crash.
The venerable painter stood up with a calm and leonine expression. "I
use an ivory palette knife," he said.