before his canvas and contemplate the
portrait of herself upon which he was working. It was undeniably good--a
striking figure in full-length, life-size, and breathing with Donna
Tullia's vitality, if also with something of her coarseness.

"Ah, my friend," remarked Del Ferice, "you will never be successful until
you take my advice."

"I think it is very like," said Donna Tullia, thoughtfully.

"You are too modest," answered Del Ferice. "There is the foundation of
likeness, but it lacks yet the soul."

"Oh, but that will come," returned Madame Mayer. Then turning to the
artist, she added in a more doubtful voice, "Perhaps, as Del Ferice says,
you might give it a little more expression--what shall I say?--more
poetry."

Anastase Gouache smiled a fine smile. He was a man of immense talent;
since he had won the Prix de Rome he had made great progress, and was
already half famous with that young celebrity which young men easily
mistake for fame itself. A new comet visible only through a good glass
causes a deal of talk and speculation in the world; but unless it comes
near enough to brush the earth with its tail, it is very soon forgotten.
But Gouache seemed to understand this, and worked steadily on. When
Madame Mayer expressed a wish for a little more poetry in her portrait,
he smiled, well knowing that poetry was as far removed from her nature as
dry champagne is different in quality from small beer.

"Yes," he said; "I know--I am only too conscious of that defect." As
indeed he was--conscious of the defect of it in herself. But he had many
reasons for not wishing to quarrel with Donna Tullia, and he swallowed
his artistic convictions in a rash resolve to make her look like an
inspired prophetess rather than displease her.

"If you will sit down, I will work upon the head," he said; and moving
one of the old carved chairs into position for her, he adjusted the light
and began to work without any further words. Del Ferice installed himself
upon a divan whence he could see Donna Tullia and her portrait, and the
sitting began. It might have continued for some time in a profound
silence as far as the two men were concerned, but silence was not
bearable for long to Donna Tullia.

"What were you and Saracinesca talking about yesterday?" she asked
suddenly, looking towards Del Ferice.

"Politics," he answered, and was silent.

"Well?" inquired Madame Mayer, rather anxiously.

"I am sure you know his views as well a