I dared not run away, so I sat down on one of the long seats that were
ranged around the wall. My companions did the same. There must have
been fifty easels, all ranged in a semicircle around the old man who
posed as a model. Several of the easels had been upset, and there was
much confusion when we entered.

“Just help us to arrange things—that is right, thank you,” said Gian
to the stout man who was captain of our party. To my astonishment the
stout man was doing just as he was bid, and was pacifying the women
students and straightening up their easels and stools.

I was interested in watching Gian walking around, helping this one
with a stroke of his crayon, saying a word to that, smiling and
nodding to another. I just sat there and stared. These students were
not regular art students, I could see that plainly. Some were
children, ragged and barelegged, others were old men who worked in the
glass-factories, and surely with hands too old and stiff to ever paint
well. Still others were women and young girls of the town. I rubbed my
eyes and tried to make it out!

The music we heard I could still hear—it came from the wine-shop
across the way. I looked around and what do you believe? My companions
had all gone. They had sneaked out one by one and left me alone.

I watched my chance and when the Master’s back was turned I tiptoed
out, too.

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