somewhat relieved to find that the street was deserted. "It's
a silly habit of mine, that I have fought against from a child. My
parents gave up taking me to the theatre because they said I always
went through too many contortions over what I saw. But, when anything
excites me, I always forget my best resolutions to maintain my
composure and dignity. When you come to see my studio, baron," she
said, turning to Felix, "I hope you will bear me witness that I know
how to keep within bounds on canvas at least."

"It is comical," she continued, as no one answered, "what singular
neighbors we are. Here Rosebud, who looks so gentle and innocent, as if
he could not kill a fly, wades ankle-deep in blood every day, and isn't
happy unless, like a new Hotspur, he can kill at least fourteen
Pappenheimer cuirassiers with oil in a morning. And I--whose best
friends have to confess that the Graces didn't stand beside my
cradle--I bother myself over fragrant flower-pieces and laughing
children's faces, and then read in the reviews that I should do well to
take up subjects that have more body to them!"

So she ran on for a while, without sparing herself or her companions in
her jokes--yet without the least rudeness or old-maidish bitterness in
her talk. A certain element of womanly coquetry showed now and then in
her frank, honest speeches--an attempt to caricature herself and her
faults and follies, so that she might be taken, after all, at a little
higher value than her own exaggerations gave her credit for. But even
this was done so good-naturedly that any gallant speeches that her
companions might try to make were generally smothered in laughter.
Felix was greatly attracted by her cleverness and droll good-humor;
and, as he showed clearly how they amused him, her mood grew all the
merrier, and one jest followed another so that the long walk seemed
very short to all of them, and they stood at the door of the Pinakothek
before they realized that they had come so far.

"And here, Baron, we must bid one another good-by for the present,"
said the painter. "You must know that in this art-temple of ours we
behave like good Catholics in their churches. Each kneels before a
different altar; I before St. Huysum and Rachel Ruysch; Herr Rosebud
before his Wouvermans; Herr Jansen before Saints Peter and Paul; and
Homo stays outside, in silent converse with the stone lions on the
steps. I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of seeing you in my