tion," said the old gentleman, making an attempt
at pacification.

"It was assuredly the intention," proceeded the stranger; "it is an old
stale trick, which it has not been thought worth while even to face
with a new invention. I saw at the picture-dealer's that so-called
Salvator; the owner thought it genuine, and was confirmed in his belief
when a traveller, who by his dress seemed a man of high quality,
offered a large price for the picture: he meant to call again on his
return, and begged the dealer not to let the piece go out of his hands
for a month at least. And who was this distinguished personage? The
discarded valet of Count Alten of Vienna. Thus it is evident that the
trick, whoever may have been the contriver, was played off against you,
M. Walther, and your friend Erich."

Edward in the meanwhile had with trembling hands wrapped his picture in
its cover again; he gnashed his teeth, stamped, and cried, "The devil
must play me this trick!" So saying he rushed out, and did not observe
that the maiden was looking down again from above into the saloon, to
which she had been drawn by the vociferation of the quarrellers.

"My worthy sir," said the old man, now addressing the stranger, "you
have distressed me; you have been too hasty with the young man; he is
heedless and extravagant, but I have never yet heard of his playing a
foul trick."

"One must always be the first," said the stranger with cool
bitterness; "he has at all events paid to-day his scholar's fee, and
will either reform or learn the necessity of managing his matters more
prudently, and in no case losing his temper."

"He has certainly been imposed on himself," said Walther, "or has
really found the picture as he says; and his father, who was a great
judge, laid it by for the very reason that it was not genuine."

"You wish to put the best face on the matter, Sir," said the stranger;
"but in that case the young man would not have been so indecently
violent. Who is he, pray, after all?"

"His father," so the old gentleman's story ran, "was a rich man, who
left behind him a large property; he had a passion for our art of an
intensity of which few men certainly are capable. He devoted to it a
great part of his fortune, and his collection might justly be called
incomparable. In his attention to it however he neglected rather too
much, it must be owned, the education of this his only son; hence on
the old man's death the youth thought of nothin