The painter replied that it was a portrait as it had been painted from life.  The judgment was that the painter must live by his trade, and that as Guerra had given him painting to do he must therefore provide him with the wherewithal to live, seeing that the artist swore he had done his best to catch the likeness.  Everybody thought this sentence just, and so did I; but I confess it also seemed rather hard, especially to Guerra, who with costs had to pay a hundred guineas for the miniature.

Malingan’s daughter died just as her father received a public box on the ear from a nobleman who liked piquet, but did not like players who corrected the caprices of fortune.  I gave the poor wretch the wherewithal to bury his daughter and to leave England.  He died soon after at Liege, and his wife told me of the circumstance, saying that he had expired regretting his inability to pay his debts.

M. M——­ F——­ came to London as the representative of the canton of Berne, and I called, but was not received.  I suspected that he had got wind of the liberties I had taken with pretty Sara, and did not want me to have an opportunity for renewing them.  He was a somewhat eccentric man, so I did not take offence, and had almost forgotten all about it when chance led me to the Marylebone Theatre one evening.  The spectators sat at little tables, and the charge for admittance was only a shilling, but everyone was expected to order something, were it only a pot of ale.

On going into the theatre I chanced to sit down beside a girl whom I did not notice at first, but soon after I came in she turned towards me, and I beheld a ravishing profile which somehow seemed familiar; but I attributed that to the idea of perfect beauty that was graven on my soul.  The more I looked at her the surer I felt that I had never seen her before, though a smile of inexpressible slyness had begun to play about her lips.  One of her gloves fell, and I hastened to restore it to her, whereupon she thanked me in a few well-chosen French sentences.

“Madam is not English, then?” said I, respectfully.

“No, sir, I am a Swiss, and a friend of yours.”

At this I looked round, and on my right hand sat Madame M——­ F——­, then her eldest daughter, then her husband.  I got up, and after bowing to the lady, for whom I had a great esteem, I saluted her husband, who only replied by a slight movement of the head.  I asked Madame M——­ F——­ what her husband had against me, and she said that Possano had written to him telling some dreadful stories about me.

There was not time for me to explain and justify myself, so I devoted all my energies to the task of winning the daughter’s good graces.  In three years she had grown into a perfect beauty:  she knew it, and by her blushes as she spoke to me I knew she was thinking of what had passed between us in the presence of my housekeeper.  I was anxious to find out whether she would acknowledge the fact, or deny it altogether.  If she had done so I should have despised her.  When I had seen her before, the blossom of her beauty was still in the bud, now it had opened out in all its splendour.