what he liked. His compositions, whether of landscape or history, were
eagerly snatched up at extravagant prices,--for M---y was always
exorbitant in his demands. Besides, when he chose, M---y painted
portraits,--never on application, nor for the aristocracy or the
rich,--but as the mood seized him, of some subject that attracted him
while on his various excursions, or of some of his friends. Yet who
_were_ his friends? Could any one tell? I could not find a person who
claimed to know him intimately. Everybody had something to praise him
for: "But it was such a pity that"--and here would follow one of the
thousand bits of gossip which were floating about and had been floating
for years, I had seen M---y often,--for he was no recluse, and could be
met daily in the streets. His general appearance so fascinated me that
the desire to know the man led me to adopt the course I have just
mentioned. So much by way of explanation.

And now, furnished with the card and the advice contained in my friend
R.'s letter, I proceeded one afternoon to the ---- Strasse, and sought
admittance. A decent-looking servant-woman opened the door, and to my
inquiry replied that Herr M---y was certainly at home, but whether
engaged or not she could not answer. She ushered me into a small
apartment on my right, which seemed intended for a reception-room. I was
about sending some kind of message to the master of the house, for I did
not like to trust the magic card out of my possession, when I heard a
door open and shut at the end of the hall, and the quick, nervous step
of a along the passage. Seeing the servant standing by the door, M---y,
for it was he, walked toward it and presented himself bodily before me.
He wore a cap and dressing-gown, and looked vexed, but not ill-natured,
on seeing me. I was much embarrassed, and, forgetting what I had
proposed to say to him, I put R.'s card into his hand without a word.
His eye lighted up instantly.