"Good--don't look at him again, for fear of attracting his attention. I have been trying for the last half hour to get a sketch of his head, but I think he suspected me. Anyhow he moved so often, and so hid his face with his hands and the newspaper, that I was completely baffled. Now it is a remarkable head--just the head I have been wanting for my Marshal Romero--and if, with your rapid pencil and your skill in seizing expression, you could manage this for me...." "I will do my best," said Müller. "A thousand thanks. I will go now; for when I am gone he will be off his guard. You will find me in the den up to three o'clock. Adieu." Saying which, the stranger passed on, and went out. "That's Flandrin!" said Müller. "Really?" I said. "Flandrin! And you know him?" But in truth I only answered thus to cover my own ignorance; for I knew little at that time of modern French art, and I had never even heard the name of Flandrin before. "Know him!" echoed Müller. "I should think so. Why, I worked in his studio for nearly two years." And then he explained to me that this great painter (great even then, though as yet appreciated only in certain choice Parisian circles, and not known out of France) was at work upon a grand historical subject connected with the Spanish persecutions in the Netherlands--the execution of Egmont and Horn, in short, in the great square before the Hôtel de Ville in Brussels. "But the main point now," said Müller, "is to get the sketch--and how? Confound the fellow! while he keeps his back to the light and his head down like that, the thing is impossible. Anyhow I can't do it without an accomplice. You must help me." "I! What can I do?" "Go and sit near him--speak to him--make him look up--keep him, if possible, for a few minutes in conversation--nothing easier." "Nothing easier, perhaps, if I were you; but, being only myself, few things more difficult!" "Nevertheless, my dear boy, you must try, and at once. Hey --presto!--away!" Placed where we were, the stranger was not likely to have observed us; for we had come into the room from behind the corner in which he was sitting, and had taken our places at a table which he could not have seen without shifting his own position. So, thus peremptorily commanded, I rose; slipped quietly back into the inner salon, made a pretext of looking at the clock over the door; and came out again, as if alone and looking for a vacant seat. The table at which he had placed himself was very small--only just big enough to stand in a corner and hold a plate and a coffee-cup; but it was supposed to be large enough for two, and there were evidently two chairs belonging to it. On one of these, being alone, the stranger had placed his overcoat and a small black bag. I at once saw and seized my opportunity. "Pardon, Monsieur," I said, very civilly, "will you permit me to hang these things up?" He looked up, frowned, and said abruptly:-- "Why, Monsieur?" "That I may occupy this chair."