nish fisherman's
hut."

"You're mounted on your hobby again," said Toinette's brother, with a
subtle smile. "And you'll right; he who wishes to understand artists,
must go to the land of artists. But you forget one thing; if art is not
indigenous in our colder zone--ought we to abandon the hope that by
long and affectionate care it will at last become acclimated? Who knows
what we lack? That we do not, in our need, tamely submit with folded
arms, is no reproach to us, and when I look at German artists--"

"German artists? I implore you, my dear Prince, in the names of the
great masters, not to give these wretched bunglers so proud a name! But
no, I wrong them. They're no bunglers, but rather very skillful
mechanics or artisans, who have learned all the rules of their trade,
and feel a pride in their guild. German artists! I know them. There was
one, the most ridiculous bungler in the world, a certain Koenig, whom
his colleagues called the zaunkoenig, because he exhibited old hedges or
fences adorned with a few weeds, as landscapes. I made a wager with a
connoisseur and enthusiast, our worthy Baron L., that this poor devil,
who, in the wrath of God, was condemned to daub in colors, would
joyfully renounce 'art,' if any one would buy his poor talent, I mean
give him enough to live upon, on condition that he would no longer
paint."

"And did you win?"

"No, I lost, my dear fellow, and it served me right; I ought to have
known these German dreamers and idealists better. Just think, Countess,
the man discovered that an experiment was being tried upon him, his
'artist' pride awoke, and he acted as if life would not be worth the
having if he could not daily daub at his wooden landscapes; he wrote me
an impertinent note, throwing my favors at my feet--the title of court
painter, salary, future support, and even the whole sum he had already
received. I lost my bet, but Germany regained an artist, and with him
one fool the more."

Gaston laughed loudly and began to interpret the story to the
chevalier, who had not understood a word. The beautiful princess, who
had joined in the laugh, was just turning to Toinette to continue the
conversation about the journey to Italy, when Edwin's voice interrupted
her.

"I must beg you, Prince," he said with quiet emphasis, "to speak
somewhat more respectfully of the artist whom you choose to call a
fool. I have the happiness of being a son-in-law of that worthy
gentleman, and am there