Sometime in the late nineteen sixties, on a sunny afternoon in Paris, the sidewalks were alive.  At a café in the Place Royale in Marais an austere woman traveler was about to experience the ultimate romance of the city.  Seated beside her, nearly unrecognizable in his late age, was the famous painter Pablo Picasso.

“Je m’excuse, Mr. Picasso,” she said with her best pronunciation, “would you sketch me?” and in her request coyly slid a napkin across the table between them.

Picasso contemplated the woman for a moment then pulled a pen from his coat, saying nothing.  When he finished he slid the napkin back to the woman, who nearly wept in exaltation.

“Merci, Merci!” she exclaimed, “what can I pay you?” the woman asked half-heartedly reaching for her purse.

“5000 Francs madame,” replied the painter.

“5000 Francs?! But it only took you five minutes?”

“Je m’excuse madame, in fact it took me all my life.”

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