The little bell on the front door jingled. A stranger walked in. "That picture you have in the window," he said. "That still life.3 Who is it by?" "Paul Cezanne."4 "Cezanne? I have never heard of him. Is it for sale?" "Ah, no, alas, it is already ..." Madame5 Tanguy saw her chance. A wiry little woman with a hard, thin face and bitter eyes, she quickly rose from the chair, threw off her apron, pushed Pere Tanguy out of the way, and ran up to the man eagerly. "But of course it is for sale. It is a beautiful still life, is it not, Monsieur?6 Have you ever seen such apples before? We will sell it to you cheap, if you admire it."