“Now, indeed, you may well be content,” laughed the count; “that is truly a magnificent appointment, and henceforth you become a prominent man at court here!  But tell me, master, do you still accept in addition the little stipend I have allotted you?”

“Your excellency, I esteem myself happy indeed that your grace has granted it to me.”

“And my treasurer has paid out to you the three thousand ducats?”

“Yes, your excellency, he has paid them out to me, and I am now released from all cares.”

“You have only one care left, master,” said Count Schwarzenberg—­“this one care, that I may some day denounce you as a shameful deceiver, who has sold me a bad copy of his own manufacture for an original, and be assured that this deception may bring you to the gallows at any time if I choose it.”

“But, most gracious sir,” stammered the painter, pale as death, “I thought you had forgiven me, and—­”

“Forgiven, so long as you are a faithful and obedient servant,” replied the count, in a severe tone—­“forgiven, so long as I can count upon your submission; but forget, that I shall never do.  And at the slightest mistake, the least resistance to my commands, I shall remember what a cheat and good-for-nothing you are, and take back my forgiveness.  You have the three thousand ducats, but you have not yet given a receipt for them.  Sit you down there at my table and write the receipt.  I will dictate it to you myself.”

Like an obedient slave Gabriel Nietzel slunk to the table, sank down before it, took the pen which the count handed him, and placed it on the paper put before him.

“Write,” ordered the count, and with loud voice he dictated:  “I, Gabriel Nietzel, painter by profession, hereby affirm that I have this day received from his excellency the Stadtholder in the Mark, Count Schwarzenberg, the sum of three thousand ducats in ready money.  This money is the price paid for a painting by Titiano Vecellio, representing the goddess of beauty with a Cupid, who presents Venus her looking-glass.  I bought this picture at Cremona for two thousand ducats, and I vow and swear upon my conscience and by all that I hold sacred that this painting, which I have sold to the count for an original painting, is actually an original painting by Titiano Vecellio’s own hand.”

“Now, master, why do you hesitate?  Why do you not write?”

“Oh, sir, have some pity upon me!” groaned the painter.  “I can not write that.  I can not swear that it is an original by all I hold sacred.”

“Why, what does it signify?” laughed the count; “paper is lenient.  The advantage to me is only that I can by means of this receipt prove to connoisseurs and picture lovers that I have bought an original painting from you.  For the rest, if you will not write, why then, very good.  I shall have you arrested on the spot, inform the Electress of what a deceiver you are, have the three thousand ducats forthwith taken away again, and keep you in prison until the suit is made out against you; then you shall be hung conformably with law and usage.”