He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the
young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear
himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts;
to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo.

In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists;
it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark
shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of
the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost
like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of
the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted,
cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the
lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set.

They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate
little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the
guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls,
models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two
pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate
beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks.

How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood,
fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and
roses, life was gold and roses.

"Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by
the current within and without you!"

"I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You
are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man