“No, no—­diable! you must know a little, or I can’t exchange a word with you.  But very little—­the less the better.  And now I’ll let them in.”

They came; Madame first—­tall, buxom, large-featured, fresh-colored, radiant in flowers, lace, and Palais Royal jewelry; then Monsieur—­short, fat, bald, rosy and smiling, with a huge frill to his shirt-front and a nankeen waistcoat.

Mueller introduced them with much ceremony and many apologies.

“Permit me, milord,” he said, “to present Monsieur and Madame Tapotte—­Monsieur and Madame Tapotte; Milord Smithfield.”

I rose and bowed with the gravity becoming my rank.

“I have explained to milord,” continued Mueller, addressing himself partly to the new-comers, partly to me, and chiefly to the study on the easel, “that having no second room in which to invite Monsieur and Madame to repose themselves, I am compelled to ask them into the studio—­where, however, his lordship is so very kind as to say that they are welcome.” (Hereupon Madame Tapotte curtsied again, and Monsieur ducked his bald head, and I returned their salutations with the same dignity as before.) “If Monsieur and Madame will be pleased to take seats, however, his lordship’s sitting will be ended in about ten minutes. Mille pardons, the face, milord, a little more to the right.  Thank you—­thank you very much.  And if you will do me the favor to look at me ... for the expression of the eye—­just so—­thank you!  A most important point, milord, is the expression of the eye.  When I say the expression, I mean the fire, the sparkle, the liquidity ... enfin the expression!”

Here he affected to put in some touches with immense delicacy—­then retreated a couple of yards, the better to contemplate his work—­pursed up his mouth—­ran his fingers through his hair—­shaded his eyes with his hand—­went back and put in another touch—­again retreated—­again put in a touch; and so on some three or four times successively.

Meanwhile Monsieur and Madame Tapotte were fidgeting upon their chairs in respectful silence.  Every now and then they exchanged glances of wonder and admiration.  They were evidently dying to compare my august features with my portrait, but dared not take the liberty of rising.  At length the lady’s curiosity could hold out no longer.

“Ah, mon Dieu!” she said; “but it must be very fatiguing to sit so long in the same position.  And to paint.... Oiel! what practice! what perseverance! what patience! Avec permission, M’sieur...”

And with this she sidled up to Mueller’s elbow, leaving Monsieur Tapotte thunderstruck at her audacity.

Then for a moment she stood silent; but during that moment the eager, apologetic smile vanished suddenly out of her face, and was succeeded by an expression of blank disappointment.

“Tiens!” she said bluntly.  “I don’t see one bit of likeness.”