he
herself knew not even how to begin.

An artist engrossed in his work heeds not what is going on around him.
The painter in this instance wore a simple canvas jacket, spotted with
oil and colours here and there, and a straw hat, broad of brim and
ventilated with abundant holes. The princess, looking over his
shoulder, was far less interested in the painter than in his work.
Indeed, the artist himself was so absorbed in his task that, to save
time, he held one of his brushes crosswise between his teeth while he
worked with the other. Yet the instinct of politeness impelled him, as
soon as he heard the rustle of a lady's skirt behind him, to remove his
broad-brimmed hat and place it on the floor at his side.

"Manasseh!"

Startled surprise and gladness spoke in that word, which slipped out ere
the speaker's discretion could prevent it. The young man turned quickly.

"Princess!" he exclaimed, "where did you drop from?"

"I was not looking for you," she stammered, thus betraying that she had
been seeking him and was rejoiced, heart and soul, at the chance that
had led her to him.

Manasseh smiled. "No, not for me, but for the painter wrestling with the
Colosseum from this lofty roost. I saw you yesterday attempting the same
task from below."

"And you recognised me--so far off?"

"I have very good eyes. I also saw that you were dissatisfied with your
attempts, for you tore out one leaf after another from your sketch-book
and threw them away."

"Did you find them again?" asked Blanka, breathlessly.

"I made it a point to do so, Princess," was the reply.

"Oh, then give them back to me, please!"

"Here they are."

No creditor ever did his distressed debtor a greater favour in
surrendering to him an overdue note than did Manasseh in restoring the
lost leaves to their owner. She replaced them carefully in her
sketch-book, assuring herself, as she did so, that the missing address
was on the blank side of one of them. What if it had caught the young
man's eye? How would he have explained its presence there?

She sat down to rest a moment on the stone railing of the gallery, her
back to the arena and her face toward Manasseh,--an arrangement that
very much interfered with the artist's view of what he was painting. The
sun shone directly in her eyes, and she had no sunshade, having left
hers in the carriage. The arena was so shaded that she had needed none
there. Manasseh adjusted his umbrella so as to shield th