. Would
he come and see him some morning in the Museo? Would he give him this
proof of his friendship? Renovales tried to decline. What did he care
for a copy? But there was an expression of such humble supplication in
the Hungarian's little eyes, he showered him with so many praises of his
great triumphs, expatiating on the success that his picture _Man
Overboard!_ had won at the last Budapest Exhibition, that the master
promised to go to the Museo.

And a few days later, one morning when a gentleman whose portrait he was
painting canceled his appointment, Renovales remembered his promise and
went to the Museo del Prado, feeling, as he entered, the same sensation
of insignificance and homesickness that a man suffers on returning to
the university where he has passed his youth.

When he found himself in the Hall of Velasquez, he suddenly felt seized
with religious respect. There was a painter! _The_ painter! All his
irreverent theories of hatred for the dead were left outside the door.
The charm of those canvases that he had not seen for many years rose
again--fresh, powerful, irresistible; it overwhelmed him, awakening his
remorse. For a long time he remained motionless, turning his eyes from
one picture to another, eager to comprise in one glance the whole work
of the immortal, while around him the hum of curiosity began again.

"Renovales! That's Renovales!"

The news had started from the door, spreading through the whole Museo,
reaching the Hall of Velasquez behind his steps. The groups of curious
people stopped gazing at the pictures to look at that huge,
self-possessed man who did not seem to realize the curiosity that
surrounded him. The ladies, as they went from canvas to canvas, looked
out of the corner of their eyes at the celebrated artist whose portrait
they had seen so often. They found him more ugly, more commonplace than
he appeared in the engravings in the papers. It did not seem possible
that that "porter" had talent and painted women so well. Some young
fellows approached to look at him more closely, pretending to gaze at
the same pictures as the master. They scrutinized him, noting his
external peculiarities with that desire for enthusiastic imitation which
marks the novice. Some determined to copy his soft bow-tie and his
tangled hair, with the fantastic hope that this would give them a new
spirit for painting. Others complained to themselves that they were
beardless and could not display the cur