eeling of awkward constraint; and so they went away before he could
muster courage enough to inquire further into their circumstances and
mode of life.

In fact there was something so quite out of the ordinary in the
appearance of these two persons that even the clerks and others in the
office were struck by it. The surly book-keeper had stuck his pen
behind his ear, and leaning on his arms, which he clasped behind his
head, he sat watching the old man with keen glittering eyes. "God
forgive me," he said when the strangers had left the office, "if he
didn't look like an old picture of the year 1400 in St. John's parish
church, with his curly beard and black mantle." Herr Elias set him down
without more ado as a Polish Jew, notwithstanding his noble bearing and
his extremely grave old-German face, and cried with a simper, "Silly
fellow! sells his stock now; might make at least ten per cent, more in
a week." Of course he knew nothing about the additional price which had
been agreed upon, and which Traugott intended to pay out of his own
pocket. And this he really did do when some days later he again met the
old man and the youth in Arthur's Hall.

The old man said, "My son has reminded me that you are an artist also,
and so I will accept what I should have otherwise refused." They were
standing close beside one of the four granite pillars which support the
vaulted roof of the hall, and immediately in front of the two painted
figures which Traugott had formerly sketched in the letter of advice.
Without reserve he spoke of the great resemblance between these figures
and the old man himself and the youth. The old man smiled a peculiar
smile, and laying his hand on Traugott's shoulder, said in a low and
deliberate tone, "Then you didn't know that I am the German painter
Godofredus Berklinger, and that it was I who painted the pictures which
seem to give you so much pleasure, a long time ago, whilst still a
learner in art. That burgomaster I copied in commemoration of myself,
and that the page who is leading the horse is my son you can of course
very easily see by comparing the faces and figures of the two."
Traugott was struck dumb with astonishment. But he very soon came to
the conclusion that the old man, who took himself to be the artist of a
picture more than two hundred years old must be labouring under some
peculiar delusion. The old man went on, lifting up his head and looking
proudly about him, "Ay, that was an artis