from top to bottom,
that for thy sake I should have permitted myself such a lie!"

"It's no lie at all, manikin," said the painter, as he unwrapped the
picture; "it is as genuine a Salvator Rosa as I ever painted. Thou hast
never seen me at work upon it, and therefore canst not know who the
author is. Thou hast no dexterity, my little simpleton; I ought not to
have trusted thee with the business."

"I will be a man of honour!" cried Edward, striking the table with his
fist; "I will become a steady man, and be once more respected by others
and myself. I will become quite another creature, I will enter on a new
course of life!"

"Why put thyself out of temper?" said the old man, renewing his
draught. "I will not hinder thee; I shall rejoice to see the day. I
have always, thou knowest, warned thee and lectured thee; I tried too
to accustom thee to work; I wanted to initiate thee in the process of
restoration, to teach thee to prepare varnishes, to grind colours, in
short, I have left no stone unturned for thy benefit."

"Dog of a fellow!" cried Edward, "was I to become thy journeyman, thy
colour-grinder? But in truth I sunk to-day deeper still, when I let
myself be used as a knave's knave!"

"What derogatory expressions the lad makes use of!" said the painter,
sniggering in his glass. "Were I to take such things to heart, here had
we forthwith tilting or bitter feud. But he means well for all his
warmth; the youngster has something noble in his character; only as a
picture-dealer, to be sure, he is good for nothing."

Edward laid his head on the table, from which the painter hastily wiped
a slop of wine away, that the youth might not dip his sleeve in it.
"The dear good Salvator," he then said thoughtfully, "is supposed
himself not to have led the best of lives; they even charge him with
having been a bandit. When Rembrandt gave himself out for dead in his
life-time, in order to raise the price of his works, he did not quite
adhere to truth neither, though he died in reality some years
afterwards, and so had only miscalculated a little. Suppose then, I, in
all love and humility, paint a little piece like this, and gently and
gradually identify myself in fancy with the old master, and all his
delightful peculiarities, so that I feel as if the spirit of the dear
departed guided my hand and pencil, and the thing is then finished, and
affectionately winks to me its gratitude, for having executed another
piece of the old