“I am very sorry,” she said, “for I am longing to see a king.”

My brother had completed several pictures and having decided on presenting one to M. de Marigny, we repaired one morning to the apartment of that nobleman, who lived in the Louvre, where all the artists were in the habit of paying their court to him.  We were shewn into a hall adjoining his private apartment, and having arrived early we waited for M. de Marigny.  My brother’s picture was exposed there; it was a battle piece in the style of Bourguignon.

The first person who passed through the room stopped before the picture, examined it attentively, and moved on, evidently thinking that it was a poor painting; a moment afterwards two more persons came in, looked at the picture, smiled, and said,

“That’s the work of a beginner.”

I glanced at my brother, who was seated near me; he was in a fever.  In less than a quarter of an hour the room was full of people, and the unfortunate picture was the butt of everybody’s laughter.  My poor brother felt almost dying, and thanked his stars that no one knew him personally.

The state of his mind was such that I heartily pitied him; I rose with the intention of going to some other room, and to console him I told him that M. de Marigny would soon come, and that his approbation of the picture would avenge him for the insults of the crowd.  Fortunately, this was not my brother’s opinion; we left the room hurriedly, took a coach, went home, and sent our servant to fetch back the painting.  As soon as it had been brought back my brother made a battle of it in real earnest, for he cut it up with a sword into twenty pieces.  He made up his mind to settle his affairs in Paris immediately, and to go somewhere else to study an art which he loved to idolatry; we resolved on going to Dresden together.

Two or three days before leaving the delightful city of Paris I dined alone at the house of the gate-keeper of the Tuileries; his name was Conde.  After dinner his wife, a rather pretty woman, presented me the bill, on which every item was reckoned at double its value.  I pointed it out to her, but she answered very curtly that she could not abate one sou.  I paid, and as the bill was receipted with the words ‘femme Conde’, I took the pen and to the word ‘Conde’ I added ‘labre’, and I went away leaving the bill on the table.

I was taking a walk in the Tuileries, not thinking any more of my female extortioner, when a small man, with his hat cocked on one side of his head and a large nosegay in his button-hole, and sporting a long sword, swaggered up to me and informed me, without any further explanation, that he had a fancy to cut my throat.

“But, my small specimen of humanity,” I said, “you would require to jump on a chair to reach my throat.  I will cut your ears.”

“Sacre bleu, monsieur!”

“No vulgar passion, my dear sir; follow me; you shall soon be satisfied.”