"It is a lachrymatory, your excellency."
"And yet the Electress smiles, Sir Painter."
"She takes the lachrymatory for a golden vase, which your excellency is presenting to her as a present."
"You are witty, it seems, Master Gabriel," said the count sharply. "But that your portraits are good must be admitted, and your sketch is altogether charming. Only you have sketched for me there a joyous festival, and, if I remember rightly, I ordered of you a picture which should represent the death of Julius Cæsar, or some such murderous occasion. But I see no dagger and no murderer in this sketch."
"Only look at that man standing behind the Electoral Prince."
"Ah, I see him now. Why, master, that is your own likeness!"
"Yes, your excellency, my own likeness. You grant me your permission, then, to appear at the feast?"
"Why not? Paul Veronese, too, has introduced his own portrait among those of his banqueters. What is your image there handing to the Electoral Prince in that basket?"
"A piece of white bread, most gracious sir, nothing more."
"Ah, a piece of white bread! You have become, it seems, the young Electoral Prince's lackey, have laid your character as artist upon the shelf, and become body page to the gracious Prince?"