prosecute your artistic studies there, and come to me early to-morrow
morning and acquaint me with the result of your audience. Farewell, Master
Gabriel; go first to my treasurer and then to the Electress. No, no, say
nothing more; no protestations, no word of thanks. I know you--that is
enough."

With proud, courtly mien he nodded to the painter in token of dismissal,
waved his hand toward the door, and then seated himself in the window
niche beside the Venus, turning his back to the room.

Abashed and humiliated, Gabriel slunk away, and not until the sound of the
closing door gave warning of his departure did the count turn around. His
gaze was fixed upon the Venus, who in her wanton beauty met his looks with
dark, flashing eyes.

"You have cost me much, fair signora," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Three thousand ducats for a copy! Who knows whether Titiano Vecellio was
paid more for his original in his own time? Ah! you poor, beautiful woman,
how dismal and cheerless it will seem to you in the cold north, and how
much you will miss the golden light of your sunny Italian home here in
this dirty northern Mark! We two must console one another, and try to
forget that we do not live in your own fair Italy, but here, here, where
there is more rain than sunshine, and where in place of music we often
hear nothing but the grunting of swine and the bleating of sheep!"

And, as if in confirmation of his words, just then was heard from the
street a loud tumult, a confused discord of grunts and squeals. The count
turned from the Italian beauty, and looked out into the street, or,
rather, the great square fronting his palace.[8] The rain, which had