A little while later I received from my dear lady an invitation to visit Melford and paint the portrait of her mother, who regarded my portrait of Joanna as a work of genius. If you are a young artist it makes your head spin very pleasantly to hear yourself alluded to as a genius. Later in life you do not quite like it, for you have bitter knowledge of your limitations and are mortally afraid your kind flatterers will find you out. But at twenty you really do not know whether you are a genius or not. Mrs. Rushworth, however, backed her opinion with a hundred guineas. A hundred guineas! When I read the words I uttered a wild shriek which brought Blanquette in a fright from the bedroom. It was a commission, Joanna explained, and I was to accept it just like any other artist, and I was to stay with them, again like any other artist, during the sittings.
"I am to go to England to paint another portrait, Blanquette. How much do you think I shall be paid for it?"
"Much?" queried Blanquette, in her deliberate way.
I indicated with swinging arms a balloon of gold. Blanquette reflected.
"Fifty francs?"
"Two thousand six hundred and twenty five francs," I cried.
Blanquette sat down in order to realise the sum. It was difficult for her to conceive thousands of francs.
"That will make you rich for the rest of your life."
"It is only the beginning," I exclaimed hopefully.
Blanquette shook a reproachful head.