“I paid two thousand ducats for the painting in Cremona, where I had the good luck to discover it, on my return from Rome,” replied Master Gabriel Nietzel, with anxious countenance and timid manner, as if he dreaded an explosion of wrath on the part of the count, who was everywhere recognized and decried as avaricious and greedy of gain.  “Add to that two hundred ducats to cover my bare outlay for the packing and freight.  The rest, which concerns my trouble and need, and the perils I endured when we, that is to say, Venus and I, were seized by bands of soldiers and ransomed—­all this can not be calculated, and in humility I leave it to your grace to compensate me as you may see fit.”

“Two thousand ducats for the picture, two hundred for expenses incurred!  A tolerably high price, indeed, for a little piece of painted canvas!” cried the count, with a smile.  “For that amount a whole regiment of Brandenburg soldiers might be armed and equipped, to aid the Elector in conquering his dukedom of Pomerania.  But what is that dirty, down-trodden, commonplace Pomerania in comparison with this heavenly woman, or, if you prefer, this earthly Venus.  Go, Master Gabriel, go directly to my treasurer, and get him to count out to you three thousand ducats.  Eight hundred ducats for your toil and danger.  Are you content, master?”

“Your excellence, you pay like the greatest of lords and emperors!” cried the painter, with joy-beaming countenance.  “You make me forever your debtor, and so long as I live I shall be ready to serve you.”

“Now, if you mean that in earnest, Gabriel, an opportunity presents itself at this very time.”

“Try me, your excellency, give me a commission, however difficult, and my most gracious lord shall be forced to admit that I have executed it most faithfully and valiantly.”

“Now listen, then, master!  I herewith constitute you my agent; I take you into my pay and service.  Were I a reigning prince, then I should say, I make you my court painter; but being only the little Count Schwarzenberg, the—­”

“Stadtholder in the Mark,” interrupted Gabriel, with ready glibness of tongue, “Grand Master of the Order of St. John, first counselor and minister of the Elector of Brandenburg, president of the electoral counsel of state, lord and owner of many lands and estates, count of the empire, and—­”

“Silence, silence! enough of that!” exclaimed the count, waving him off.  “It is with me, as with the Elector.  We both have manifold titles, but they bring us in little enough, and no money appertains to them.  You have sketched me graphically, master; be quiet now, and listen to me again in silence.  I therefore take you into my pay and service, and give you from this day forward an annuity of five hundred dollars, which will be delivered to you quarterly.  Hush, hush! do not speak!  I read a question in your eyes and features, and I will forthwith supply the answer.  Your