My cold disappeared after a day or two, and I made several sketches of the infant Prince in my note-book. When the little tunic and busby were finished, I borrowed them, and brought them home with me. I buttoned up the coat and stuffed it with cotton wool, arranging the sleeves with care, and placed the little fur busby in a suitable position. Then I set to work to paint them. When I had finished, I painted in the little man’s face from my sketch-book. It was an odd-looking little painting--a man’s costume and a baby’s face. I took it to the Durbar and showed it to His Highness. He seemed pleased with it, and declared the eyes were exactly like his own. I said they were:--in fact, I intended they should be when I was painting them. I did another portrait of the little Prince some years afterwards that was much more interesting; I must speak of that later. His Highness, the Amîr, could not, of course, spare time to give me a sitting every day, so that often a considerable interval elapsed between the sittings. However, the portrait gradually progressed towards completion. As a painting, technically speaking, it might have been better: but as a likeness it was not at all bad. [Sidenote: The Amîr’s Reflection in the Window.] One day after a sitting, when luncheon was brought, I happened to notice His Highness moving his head from side to side. I wondered what he was doing; then he turned to me with a smile, and said he saw his reflection in the glass of the window, but was surprised to find that it did not move as he moved. He could not understand it for a moment. Then he saw the explanation. The portrait was standing on its easel in the room, and it was the reflection of his effigy, not of himself, that he saw. I thought this was a very good sign; it seemed to show that, at any rate, I had caught the attitude and general look of the Amîr. After lunch His Highness withdrew, and I put the easel and picture at one end of the room and sat down at the far end with a cigar, to take a comprehensive look at the thing. It happened to be standing in exactly the place where the Amîr usually sits. Presently there came running in a little Page boy with a message from the Harem serai. He turned to the picture at once, and said, “Sahib, Salaam aleicoum.” Then he saw what he had done, for everyone laughed. He seemed very much taken aback and ran out of the room. [Sidenote: The Amîr as an Art Critic.]