I couldn't disagree with his judgement on what he had coming to him, because he had come forward when I needed help badly, and he had supplied the assistance getting me out of a bad situation. The donnybrook materialized out of a dispute with my boyfriend, Andre Utter, who saw any future which involved Maurice, as a disaster: and I couldn't blame him for coming to this conclusion. It had boiled down to a choice between either of them, a choice which was averted by the opportune appearance of the ex-policeman, who stepped into the breech, and just in the nick of time. The period had been a trying one for me because I had a heavy conscience about deserting my son, but at the same time I was not interested in doing anything which might interfere with the romance I had with Utter.
Because of the economic squeeze, Utter and I were keeping an eye on Maurice's painting as a meal ticket to sustain us, providing we played our cards carefully. I felt obligated by Sergeant Gay's generosity, but not to the point of cutting my own throat in the process. We had to think of ourselves, make the right moves, and try to get some of the money Maurice was getting into our own pockets where it was needed badly. Such an eventuality, I was convinced, was a real possibility. Utrillo's sold without difficulty; there were seldom loose pictures around waiting for a buyer. Utter, with Maurice at Sergeant Gay's, had finally moved in with me at the Rue Cortot. He felt that giving this opportunity more attention, was a good idea: "Who knows," he said, shaking his head unbelievingly, "it's crazy, when you think of the boozing, but it might work."
Marie Vizier, who had an eye for good art, owned five of Maurice's canvases, hanging them in prominent places around the Cafe Belle Gabrielle. One of them, a real beauty, in sombre tones of blue, ochre, and silver gray, showed the exterior of the bistro, the alley going up the slope from the corner of the Rue Leval, and the scarred surface of the wall which straddled the corner opposite the entrance. Naturally, there was a great deal of conversation about these pictures because people, in general, were delighted with them, and there were inquiries about making a purchase. Sergeant Gay, aware of this, was usually available at an adjoining table ready to begin a sales pitch at the drop of a hat. If this developed, the prospective buyer was escorted to the annex where he might have a choice of several hanging there. It was a common sight to see a couple of Montparness characters, dressed up to the eyeballs, walking out of the Cafe Belle Gabrielle with a Utrillo painting, congratulating each other on a good deal. 
Vizier was fair about her acquisitions, paying on the spot, encouraging Maurice to eat decent food, letting him back no matter how bad an act he had put on the night before. The kindness she extended made the Cafe Belle Gabrielle the center of his attention, the safe harbor he returned to when he had no other place to go. If the time was available, Vizier took a motherly interest in his problems, scolding him for his excesses, but doing it without condescension. When he was in disfavor, he'd kneel before her, hands clasped as though he was at Mass, saying: "Before God, I am a changed man!" This comic-opera charade amused Vizier, but she never let on, allowing Maurice to believe he had won her over by a clever ruse. Vizier said that Maurice was, in turn, devil and angel. "You have no way of knowing," she explained, "what will come next!" She, however, was as patient with Maurice as anyone could possibly be, tolerating the bad side with the good, showing remarkable equanimity during the everyday troubles which followed him around, admiring and collecting his art, promoting it to customers who were interested, and referring them to Sergeant Gays's annex if they had cash in hand, ready to buy.