ialism,
glorifying the flesh, inviting temptation; Rodriguez was all he needed;
one must be an idealist.

The model continued in his mystic attitude with his body lost in the
innumerable folds of his blue and white raiment, while under it the
square toes of his army boots stuck out, and he held up his grotesque,
flat head, crowned with bristling hair, coughing and choking from the
smoke of the cigar, without ceasing to look up and without separating
his hands clasped in an attitude of worship.

Sometimes, tired out by the industrious silence of the master and the
pupil, Rodriguez uttered a few grumbles that little by little took the
form of words and finally developed into the story of the deeds of his
heroic period, when he was a rural policeman and "could take a shot at
anyone and pay for it afterward with a report." The _Purisima_ grew
excited at these memories. His hands separated with a tremble of
murderous joy, the carefully arranged folds were disturbed, his
bloodshot eyes no longer looked heavenward, and with a hoarse voice he
told of tremendous beatings he administered, of men who fell to the
ground writhing with pain, the shooting of prisoners which afterwards
were reported as attempts to escape; and to give greater relief to this
autobiography which he declaimed with bestial pride, he sprinkled his
words with interjections as vulgar as they were lacking in respect for
the first personages of the heavenly court.

"Rodriguez, Rodriguez!" exclaimed the master, horror-stricken.

"At your command, Don Rafael."

And the _Purisima_, after passing the stub from one side of his mouth to
the other, once more folded his hands, straightened up, showing his
red-striped trousers under the tunic, and lost his gaze on high, smiling
with ecstasy, as if he contemplated on the ceiling all his heroic deeds
of which he felt so proud.

Mariano was in despair before his canvas. He could never imitate his
illustrious master. He was incapable of painting anything but what he
saw, and his brush, after reproducing the blue and white raiment,
stopped, hesitating at the face, calling in vain on imagination. After
futile efforts it was the grotesque mask of Rodriguez that appeared on
the canvas.

And the pupil had a sincere admiration for the ability of Don Rafael,
for that pale head veiled in the light of its halo, a pretty,
expressionless face of childish beauty, which took the place of the
policeman's fierce head in the pictur