the sort to make them keep away. After that first morning she
always had somebody to ride at her bridle hand. Old Doyen, the
sculptor, was the first to approach them. At that age a man may
venture on anything. He rides a strange animal like a circus
horse. Rita had spotted him out of the corner of her eye as he
passed them, putting up his enormous paw in a still more enormous
glove, airily, you know, like this" (Blunt waved his hand above his
head), "to Allegre. He passes on. All at once he wheels his
fantastic animal round and comes trotting after them. With the
merest casual 'Bonjour, Allegre' he ranges close to her on the
other side and addresses her, hat in hand, in that booming voice of
his like a deferential roar of the sea very far away. His
articulation is not good, and the first words she really made out
were 'I am an old sculptor. . . Of course there is that habit. . .
But I can see you through all that. . . '

He put his hat on very much on one side. 'I am a great sculptor of
women,' he declared. 'I gave up my life to them, poor unfortunate
creatures, the most beautiful, the wealthiest, the most loved. . .
Two generations of them. . . Just look at me full in the eyes, mon
enfant.'

"They stared at each other. Dona Rita confessed to me that the old
fellow made her heart beat with such force that she couldn't manage
to smile at him. And she saw his eyes run full of tears. He wiped
them simply with the back of his hand and went on booming faintly.
'Thought so. You are enough to make one cry. I thought my
artist's life was finished, and here you come along from devil
knows where with this young friend of mine, who isn't a bad smearer
of canvases--but it's marble and bronze that you want. . . I shall