I rang; and a new servant noiselessly made his appearance--a
foreigner, with a set smile and perfectly brushed hair--a valet
every inch of him.

"Louis," said Mr. Fairlie, dreamily dusting the tips of his
fingers with one of the tiny brushes for the coins, "I made some
entries in my tablettes this morning. Find my tablettes. A
thousand pardons, Mr. Hartright, I'm afraid I bore you."

As he wearily closed his eyes again, before I could answer, and as
he did most assuredly bore me, I sat silent, and looked up at the
Madonna and Child by Raphael. In the meantime, the valet left the
room, and returned shortly with a little ivory book. Mr. Fairlie,
after first relieving himself by a gentle sigh, let the book drop
open with one hand, and held up the tiny brush with the other, as
a sign to the servant to wait for further orders.

"Yes. Just so!" said Mr. Fairlie, consulting the tablettes.
"Louis, take down that portfolio." He pointed, as he spoke, to
several portfolios placed near the window, on mahogany stands.
"No. Not the one with the green back--that contains my Rembrandt
etchings, Mr. Hartright. Do you like etchings? Yes? So glad we
have another taste in common. The portfolio with the red back,
Louis. Don't drop it! You have no idea of the tortures I should
suffer, Mr. Hartright, if Louis dropped that portfolio. Is it
safe on the chair? Do YOU think it safe, Mr. Hartright? Yes? So
glad. Will you oblige me by looking at the drawings, if you
really think they are quite safe. Louis, go away. What an ass
you are. Don't you see me holding the tablettes? Do you suppose I