"That's fair enough. Why is this one piece so important to you?"

He nodded. "I remember I first saw Vermeer's work in a bakery in the village of Delft in Holland. I was an Englishwoman living in Amsterdam at the time and was on my way to Zurich for the Sumerfest."

"Sumerfest? What's that?"

"It's a yearly get together we have on the summer solstice. Gluttony and decadence are the rule of the day. In the old days, when the Cognomina first started, the original members would meet every summer solstice in the same location in order to stay in contact with one another. In time the Sumerfest became a tradition."

"Is the Sumerfest still held today?"

"Yes, it just happened over a month ago. Anyway, back to the painting, I stopped in Delft for bread and saw an exquisite painting hanging behind the counter of the bread shop. It was small, but miraculous in its detail. It depicted a young woman seated at a table admiring a glistening loaf of fresh bread. The only way to properly describe it is to say that is looked like a modern color photograph. The shadow, the tone, the contrast, the detail, were all perfect. He was better than Da Vinci and even Caravaggio. The baker told me the man's name, Jan Vermeer, and that he lived in Delft. Vermeer, the baker told me, had offered him the painting for half a year’s worth of bread. But that had been a year and a half ago. I knew I had a real find in this sleepy town. The baker told me that Vermeer came into his shop every Monday, and I left word that I wanted to commission his services and would like to meet with Vermeer two Mondays hence at midday in the bakery.

"I returned on the appointed day, eager to see the hand that could work such miracles. He was small in stature and wore his best threadbare clothing. An immodest man of meager means, he carried himself with the confidence of his art.

'I understand you wish to purchase my services?' he asked in a mousey voice, matched to his frame. He was in his mid-forties. Long brown frizzy hair erupted from under his paint-smeared velvet hat.

'Yes. Do you undertake commissions?'

'As yet I've not, but I will hear your offer Madame...'

'Restoud,' I said. 'Emil Restoud. I would like to have my portrait done. I'm prepared to offer you five hundred silver francs.'

"The baker scoffed, but Vermeer smiled. I stood and watched as his spirit swelled like a young lover’s heart.

'I accept your offer Madame Restoud. When would you like me to call on you?'