the pain of his position. After that I doubly valued the mother. She is
the simplest, sweetest, most natural creature that ever bloomed in this
brave old land of Italy. She lives in the memory of her child, in her
gratitude for the scanty kindness I have been able to show her, and in
her simple religion! She is not even conscious of her beauty; my
admiration has never made her vain. Heaven knows that I have made no
secret of it. You must have observed the singular transparency of her
expression, the lovely modesty of her glance. And was there ever such a
truly virginal brow, such a natural classic elegance in the wave of the
hair and the arch of the forehead? I have studied her; I may say I know
her. I have absorbed her little by little; my mind is stamped and
imbued, and I have determined now to clinch the impression; I shall at
last invite her to sit for me!"

"'At last--at last'?" I repeated, in much amazement. "Do you mean that
she has never done so yet?"

"I have not really had--a--a sitting," said Theobald, speaking very
slowly. "I have taken notes, you know; I have got my grand fundamental
impression. That's the great thing! But I have not actually had her as
a model, posed and draped and lighted, before my easel."

What had become for the moment of my perception and my tact I am at a
loss to say; in their absence I was unable to repress a headlong
exclamation. I was destined to regret it. We had stopped at a turning,
beneath a lamp. "My poor friend," I exclaimed, laying my hand on his
shoulder, "you have _dawdled_! She's an old, old woman--for a Madonna!"

It was as if I had brutally struck him; I shall never forget the long,
slow, almost ghastly look of pain, with which he answered me.