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no one will purchase it, my lad. Expect me in two days. I have yet another commission... Well, must be off, my carriage is waiting.'
He left with the portrait of Lord What's-his-name underarm.

Michael had dreamed, again. There was no doubt in his mind. It was a glimpse of things to come.
He studied his portrait.
'No! It is not good enough! It is not as my dream!' He painted over the canvas, and started again.

One of the women arrived in the afternoon with bread and wine. He kept the wine, threw her out along with the bread, and continued at the easel like a man possessed.
When he could paint no more, he sat and drank.
Michael contemplated the portrait. He was still not satisfied, and one by one emptied the flagons of wine while he brooded over the painting.
For the first time in his life he felt inadequate as an artist. Helpless, he sank to his knees.
'I have never been much of a praying man. I had no use for it. But if it be true, and you do exist, I beg of you. Please hear my prayers and grant me this one wish. In return I promise to do your bidding and follow your path forever. This I swear on my life. Help me create my masterpiece. I fear that I cannot accomplish the task alone'.
He continued to paint by candle light. Outside, river fog clawed at the windows.

In the morning, a beautiful young man arrived at his room carrying a parcel. He seemed out of place in that forsaken section of town.
'Good morning, sir. May I enter?'
'Please do.' Colonessi was mesmerized by the young man's gentle demeanour. 'Care for wine?'
'No, thank you, sir. Begging your pardon. Are you not well?'
'Tired. Just tired.' He drank. 'Now, I am rather busy, as you can see...'
'Sir. If I may be so bold. Your work is absolutely marvellous. I am embarrassed to show you this.'
The man unwrapped his package and handed the artist a painting. It was a portrait of Michael Colonessi. An exact likeness of the portrait in his dreams. He was stunned. The painting was magnificent. His own work looked amateurish to him in comparison.
'Begging your pardon, sir. Is it to your liking?'
'It is miraculous... Why do you bring it to me?'
'You asked for help, sir. Here it is.'
...'I do not understand. Who are you?'
'It is of no importance, sir.'
'Who sent you? What do you want?'
'Sir, I am instructed to leave the portrait in your care.' The young man turned to leave.
'Wait! Where did you acquire this painting?' Michael was confused and wary.
'Sir, I painted it'
'You? I am not familiar with your work, and I know most of the artists...'
'I

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