“Your excellenza is pleased to honor me,” said Carlton, with a respectful inclination of the head.

“If the piece be thine, it is well merited,” continued the duke.

“It shall be proved to thy satisfaction, excellenza.”

Carlton thanked in his heart the long auburn hair that covered in part his burning cheeks, while he thus stood before that gallant assembly of the elite of the court of Florence.

“What proof, sir artist,” said the duke, “shall we have of the genuineness of this production?”

“By referring to the painting, excellenza,” replied Carlton; “you will find a peculiarity of expression, a want of finish in the features of the third figure on the extreme left of the canvass.”

“You speak truly, Signor Americano; we had before noticed the defect, and were at loss to account for it in so perfect a picture as this before us.  But what of the flaw, signor?-the discovery of that which any one of thy profession would have noticed does not prove the piece to be the work of thine own hands, for we also had observed it.”

“Very true, excellenza,” replied Carlton, “but with your permission, I will complete the expression of that countenance with a touch; and when complete, it shall agree in strength of touch, style, tone of finish, and every particular, with the rest of the piece.  And, moreover, you shall be enabled therein to recognize the likeness of one of your own household.  Is it the pleasure of your excellenza that I add the finish before the present assembly?”

“It is our desire,” said the now deeply interested monarch.

A hum of admiration arose as Carlton, after retiring for a moment, returned with his palette and brush, and approached the picture.

While the duke’s band now played to the deeply interested assembly, Carlton, with a firm, bold touch, immediately supplied the indescribable something that had been wanting-the je ne sais quoi that had been referred to as being requisite to its proper finish.  It was done with such judgment and skill, that the addition, though fresh, could not be detected unless by a very close observation.  None save the author, who had purposely left that flaw, could so have remedied it.  It was done almost instantly, yet with precision and accuracy.

The duke gazed upon the canvass for a moment, and then exclaimed with admiration: 

“The Grand Chamberlain!-by our lady, what a likeness!  Sir artist, thou hast the pencil of a Raphael!”

“Is your excellenza satisfied?”

“We are convinced that the piece is thine own.  None other than its author could have accomplished that which we have just witnessed.”

“Come hither, gentlemen,” said the duke to several of his court about him; and pointing to the canvass, and the touch it had just received, said, “This proof is incontestable!”

“It is, indeed,” was the response,

“Are you, too, satisfied, gentlemen?”