His name was Savage; it used to make every one laugh, he was such a mild, melancholy, pitiful old gentleman.
He had married a horrible wife, an Englishwoman who had been on the stage.

It was said she used to beat poor Savage with his mahl-stick and when the domestic finances were low to lock him up in his studio and tell him he should n't come out until he had painted half a dozen of his daubs.

She had a good deal of showy beauty.

She would then go forth, and, her beauty helping, she would make certain people take the pictures.

It helped her at last to make an English lord run away with her.