CHAPTER XX.

Towards noon Coello called Ulrich into Moor's former studio; the youth
could not fail to observe its altered appearance.

Long cartoons, containing sketches of figures, large paintings, just
commenced or half-finished, leaned against the easels; mannikins, movable
wooden horse's heads, and plaster-models stood on the floor, the tables,
and in the windows. Stuffs, garments, tapestries, weapons hung over the
backs of the chairs, or lay on chests, tables and the stone-floor.
Withered laurel-wreaths, tied with long ribbons, fluttered over the
mantel-piece; one had fallen, dropped over the bald head of Julius
Caesar, and rested on the breast.

The artist's six cats glided about among the easels, or stretched their
limbs on costly velvet and Arabian carpets.

In one corner stood a small bed with silk curtains--the nursery of the
master's pets. A magnificent white cat was suckling her kittens in it.

Two blue and yellow cockatoos and several parrots swung screaming in
brass hoops before the open window, and Coello's coal-black negro crept
about, cleaning the floor of the spacious apartment, though it was
already noon. While engaged in this occupation, he constantly shook his
woolly head, displaying his teeth, for his master was singing loudly at
his work, and the gaily-clad African loved music.