"That is my name, sir."
He bowed again, adding:
"The Baron Frederick Van Spreckdal."
The appearance of the rich amateur, Van Spreckdal, judge of the criminal court, in my poor lodging, greatly disturbed me. I could not help throwing a stealthy glance at my old worm-eaten furniture, my damp hangings and my dusty floor. I felt humiliated by such dilapidation; but Van Spreckdal did not seem to take any account of these details; and sitting down at my little table:
"Mister Vénius," he resumed, "I come——" But at this instant his glance fell upon the unfinished sketch—he did not finish his phrase.
I was sitting on the edge of my little bed; and the sudden attention that this personage bestowed upon one of my productions made my heart beat with an indefinable apprehension.
At the end of a minute, Van Spreckdal lifted his head:
"Are you the author of that sketch?" he asked me with an intent look.
"Yes, sir."
"What is the price of it?"