"But a--a likeness--it seems to me, should at all events be--like," stammered Madame Tapotte, utterly bewildered.
"And if M'sieur is to paint my wife," added Monsieur Tapotte, who had by this time joined the group at the easel, "I--I...Dame! it must be a good deal more like than this."
Müller drew himself up with an air of great dignity.
"Sir," he said, "if Madame does me the honor to sit to me for her portrait--for her own portrait, observe--I flatter myself the resemblance will be overwhelming. But you must permit me to inform you that Milord Smithfield is not sitting for his own portrait."
The Tapottes looked at each other in a state bordering on stupefaction.
"His lordship," continued Müller, "is sitting for the portrait of one of his illustrious ancestors--a nobleman of the period of Queen Elizabeth."
Tapotte mari scratched his head, and smiled feebly.
"Parbleu!" said he, "mais c'est bien drôle, ça!"
The artist shrugged his shoulders.
"It so happens," said he, "that his lordship's gallery at Smithfield Castle has unhappily been more than half destroyed by fire. Two centuries of family portraits reduced to ashes! Terrible misfortune! Only one way of repairing the loss--that is of partially repairing it. I do my best. I read the family records--I study the history of the period--his lordship sits to me daily--I endeavor to give a certain amount of family likeness; sometimes more, you observe, sometimes less ... enormous responsibility, Monsieur Tapotte!"