“My charge for gallery portraits, madame, varies from sixty to a hundred francs,” said Mueller.

“Heavens! how dear!  Why, my own portrait is to be only fifty.”

“Sixty, Madame, if we put in the hands and the jewelry,” said Mueller, blandly.

“Eh bien!—­sixty.  But for these other things.... bah! ils sont fierement chers.”

“Pardon, madame!  The elegancies and superfluities of life are, by a just rule of political economy, expensive.  It is right that they should be so; as it is right that the necessaries of life should be within the reach of the poorest.  Bread, for instance, is strictly necessary, and should be cheap.  A great-grandfather, on the contrary, is an elegant superfluity, and may be put up at a high figure.”

“There is some truth in that,” murmured Monsieur Tapotte.

“Besides, in the present instance, one also pays for antiquity.”

“C’est juste—­C’est juste.”

“At the same time,” continued Mueller, “if Monsieur Tapotte were to honor me with a commission for, say, half a dozen family portraits, I would endeavor to put them in at forty francs apiece—­including, at that very low price, a Revolutionary Deputy, a beauty of the Louis Quinze period, and a Marshal of France.”

“Tiens! that’s a fair offer enough,” said madame.  “What say you, mon ami?”

But Monsieur Tapotte, being a cautious man, would say nothing hastily.  He coughed, looked doubtful, declined to commit himself to an opinion, and presently drew off into a corner for the purpose of holding a whispered consultation with his wife.

Meanwhile Mueller laid aside his brushes and palette, informed me with a profound bow that my lordship had honored him by sitting as long as was strictly necessary, and requested my opinion upon the progress of the work.

I praised it rapturously.  You would have thought, to hear me, that for drawing, breadth, finish, color, composition, chiaroscuro, and every other merit that a painting could possess, this particular chef-d’oeuvre excelled all the masterpieces of Europe.

Mueller bowed, and bowed, and bowed, like a Chinaman at a visit of ceremony; He was more than proud; he was overwhelmed, accable, et caetera, et caetera.

The Tapottes left off whispering, and listened breathlessly.

“He is evidently a great painter, not’ jeune homme!” said Madame in one of her large whispers.

To which Monsieur replied as audibly:—­“Ca se voit, ma femme—­sacre nom d’une pipe!”

“Milford will do me the favor to sit again on Friday?” said Mueller, as I took up my hat and gloves.

I replied with infinite condescension that I would endeavor to do so.  I then made the stiffest of stiff bows to the excellent Tapottes, and, ushered to the door by Mueller, took my departure majestically in the character of Lord Smithfield.