“Alas, sir,” she replied, adroitly misunderstanding him, for Miriam did not lack readiness, “in this poor work there is little to admire. I am ashamed that you should look on the rude fashionings of a half-trained girl, you who must have seen all those splendid statues of which I have been told.” “By the throne of Cæsar, lady,” he exclaimed in a voice that carried a conviction of his earnestness, staring hard at the bust of Ithiel before him, “as it chances, although I am not an artist, I do know something of sculpture, since I have a friend who is held to be the best of our day, and often for my sins have sat as model to him. Well, I tell you this—never did the great Glaucus produce a bust like that.” “I daresay not,” said Miriam smiling. “I daresay the great Glaucus would go mad if he saw it.” “He would—with envy. He would say that it was the work of one of the glorious Greeks, and of no modern.” “Sir,” said Ithiel reprovingly, “do not make a jest of the maid, who does the best she can; it pains her and—is not fitting.” “Friend Ithiel,” replied Marcus, turning quite crimson, “you must indeed think that I lack manners who would come to the home of any artist to mock his work. I say what I mean, neither more nor less. If this bust were shown in Rome, together with yourself who sat for it, the lady Miriam would find herself famous within a week. Yes,” and he ran his eye quickly over various statuettes, some of them baked and some in the raw clay, models, for the most part, of camels or other animals or birds, “yes, and it is the same with all the rest: these are the works of genius, no less.” At this praise, to them so exaggerated, Miriam, pleased as she could not help feeling, broke into clear laugher, which both Ithiel and Nehushta echoed. Now, so wroth was he, the face of Marcus grew quite pale and stern. “It seems,” he said severely, “that it is not I who mock. Tell me, lady, what do you with these things?” and he pointed to the statuettes. “I, sir? I sell them; or at least my uncles do.” “The money is given to the poor,” interposed Ithiel. “Would it be rude to ask at what price?” “Sometimes,” replied Ithiel with pride, “travellers have given me as much as a silver shekel.[*] Once indeed, for a group of camels with their Arabian drivers, I received four shekels; but that took my niece three months to do.” [*] About 2s. 6d. of English money. “A shekel! Four shekels!” said Marcus in a voice of despair; “I will buy them all—no, I will not, it would be robbery. And this bust?” “That, sir, is not for sale; it is a gift to my uncle, or rather to my uncles, to be set up in their court-room.” An idea struck Marcus. “I am here for a few weeks,” he said. “Tell me, lady, if your uncle Ithiel will permit it, at what price will you execute a bust of myself of the same size and quality?”