red tile floor was
spotless when we went in, but in two minutes it was all over slop and
dirt with the tread of many feet; for the kitchen was filled, and still
the worthy miller kept bringing in more people under his great crimson
umbrella. He even called the dogs in, and made them lie down under the
tables.

His daughter said something to him in German, and he shook his head
merrily at her. Everybody laughed.

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She told him to bring the ducks in next; but indeed if more people
come we shall be suffocated. What with the thundery weather, and the
stove, and all these steaming clothes, I really think we must ask leave
to pass on. Perhaps we might go in and see Frau Scherer."

My friend asked the daughter of the house for permission to go into an
inner chamber and see her mother. It was granted, and we went into a
sort of saloon, overlooking the Neckar; very small, very bright, and
very close. The floor was slippery with polish; long narrow pieces
of looking-glass against the walls reflected the perpetual motion of
the river opposite; a white porcelain stove, with some old-fashioned
ornaments of brass about it; a sofa, covered with Utrecht velvet, a
table before it, and a piece of worsted-worked carpet under it; a vase
of artificial flowers; and, lastly, an alcove with a bed in it, on which
lay the paralysed wife of the good miller, knitting busily, formed the
furniture. I spoke as if this was all that was to be seen in the room;
but, sitting quietly, while my friend kept up a brisk conversation in a
language which I but half understood, my eye was caught by a picture in
a dark corner of the room, and I got up to examine it more nearly.

It was that of a young girl of extreme beauty; evidently of middle rank.
There was a sensitive refinement in her face, as if she almost shrank
from the gaze which, of necessity, the painter must have fixed upon her.
It was not over-well painted, but I felt that it must have been a good
likeness, from this strong impress of peculiar character which I have
tried to describe. From the dress, I should guess it to have been
painted in the latter half of the last century. And I afterwards heard
that I was right.

There was a little pause in the conversation.

"Will you ask Frau Scherer who this is?"

My friend repeated my question, and received a long reply in German.
Then she turned round and translated it to me.

"It is the likeness of a great-aunt of