The sovereign started, his lips grew white, he drew his small but stately
figure to its full height. His unconstrained bearing was instantly
transformed into one of unapproachable, icy dignity.

Moor felt what was passing in the ruler's mind.

A slight shiver ran through his frame, but his calmness remained
unshaken, and before the insulted monarch found time to give vent to his
indignation in words, he said quickly, as if the offence he had committed
was not worth mentioning:

"Queer things are done among comrades in art. The painter's war is over!
Begin the naval battle, Sire, or still better, lend more charm and
delicacy to the corners of the mouth. The pupil's worst failure is in
the chin; more practised hands might be wrecked on that cliff. Those
eyes! Perhaps they sparkled just in that way, but we are agreed in one
thing: the portrait ought not to represent the original at a given
moment, ruled by a certain feeling or engaged in a special act, but
should express the sum of the spiritual, intellectual and personal
attributes of the subject--his soul and person, mind and character-
feelings and nature. King Philip, pondering over complicated political
combinations, would be a fascinating historical painting, but no
likeness...."

"Certainly not," said the king in a low voice; "the portrait must reveal
the inmost spirit; mine must show how warmly Philip loves art and his
artists. Take the palette, I beg. It is for you, the great Master, not
for me, the overworked, bungling amateur, to correct the work of talented
pupils."