"'I am rich, young, and skilful,' urged the unfortunate lover. 'I am a smith.'
"'For that very reason you shall not have my daughter; for she shall wed a painter, and a painter only!'
"Our smith did not lose heart, but he threw his beloved hammer into the well, where it lies to this day; he assumed the pencil and palette, and after working assiduously, he rapidly became a master in the art; he excelled even the surly old painter who had disdained him; he won for himself a high position in our city, and with it his beautiful young mistress; and all this you may see graven on the brass plate of their tomb, near the gate of the cathedral. But does messire hear me?"
"Yes; but, prythee, Maître Baudoin, what the devil has all this story about painters and smiths, palettes and draw-wells, to do with me?"
"Everything."
"How? I am not in a humour for jesting."
"It is a homily," said the Frenchman, with a low bow.
"Leave homilies to monks and friars; but for what is yours meant?"
"To teach you to hope much and to persevere long; even as that poor lover persevered and hoped."
Three days longer Gray lingered in Antwerp, searching and inquiring everywhere in vain, till at last, in despair of unravelling the mystery, on the subsidence of the waters of the Maese, he ordered his horse, bade adieu to the gossiping Maître Baudoin, and set out for the court of the duke of Gueldres; having at last all but convinced himself that the face which he had recognized in our Lady of Antwerp was the creation of his own imagination, or at most some very remarkable resemblance.