CHAPTER XVII.

Moor remained alone in the studio. How could he have played such a
boyish prank!

He was gazing anxiously at the floor, for he had good reason to be
troubled, though the reflection that he had been alone with the king, and
the unprecedented act had occurred without witnesses, somewhat soothed
him. He could not know that a third person, Ulrich, had beheld the
reckless, fateful contest.

The boy had been drawing in the adjoining room, when loud voices were
heard in the studio. He cherished a boundless reverence, bordering upon
idolatry, for his first model, the beautiful Sophonisba, and supposing
that it was she, discussing works of art with Moor, as often happened,
he opened the door, pushed back the curtain, and saw the artist tap the
chuckling king on the arm.

The scene was a merry one, yet a thrill of fear ran through his limbs,
and he went back to his plaster model more rapidly than he had come.

At nightfall Moor sought Sophonisba. He had been invited to a ball given
by the queen, and knew that he should find the maid of honor among
Isabella's attendants.

The magnificent apartments were made as light as day by thousands of wax-