"There is a woman beneath it all!" cried Porbus, calling Poussin's
attention to the layers of color which the old painter had
successively laid on, believing that he thus brought his work to
perfection. The two men turned towards him with one accord, beginning
to comprehend, though vaguely, the ecstasy in which he lived.

"He means it in good faith," said Porbus.

"Yes, my friend," answered the old man, rousing from his abstraction,
"we need faith; faith in art. We must live with our work for years
before we can produce a creation like that. Some of these shadows have
cost me endless toil. See, there on her cheek, below the eyes, a faint
half-shadow; if you observed it in Nature you might think it could
hardly be rendered. Well, believe me, I took unheard-of pains to
reproduce that effect. My dear Porbus, look attentively at my work,
and you will comprehend what I have told you about the manner of
treating form and outline. Look at the light on the bosom, and see how
by a series of touches and higher lights firmly laid on I have managed
to grasp light itself, and combine it with the dazzling whiteness of
the clearer tones; and then see how, by an opposite method,--smoothing
off the sharp contrasts and the texture of the color,--I have been
able, by caressing the outline of my figure and veiling it with cloudy
half-tints, to do away with the very idea of drawing and all other
artificial means, and give to the form the aspect and roundness of
Nature itself. Come nearer, and you will see the work more distinctly;
if too far off it disappears. See! there, at that point, it is, I
think, most remarkable." And with the end of his brush he pointed to a
spot of clear light color.