knew how to maintain his composure, and even admitted that Ulrich must
travel, but said it was still too soon. He must first finish the work he
had undertaken in the riding-school, then he himself would smooth the way
to Italy for him. To leave him, so heavily burdened, in the lurch now,
would be treating him ungratefully and basely.

Ulrich was forced to acknowledge this, and continued to paint on the
scaffold, but his pleasure in creating was spoiled. He thought of
nothing but Italy.

Every hour in Madrid seemed lost. His lofty purposes were unsettled, and
he began to seek diversion for his mind, especially at the fencing-school
with Sanchez Coello.

His eye was keen, his wrist pliant, and his arm was gaining more and more
of his father's strength, so he soon performed extraordinary feats.

His remarkable skill, his reserved nature, and the natural charm of his
manner soon awakened esteem and regard among the young Spaniards, with
whom he associated.

He was invited to the banquets given by the wealthier ones, and to join
the wild pranks, in which they sometimes indulged, but spite of
persuasions and entreaties, always in vain.

Ulrich needed no comrades, and his zechins were sacred to him; he was
keeping them for Italy.

The others soon thought him an odd, arrogant fellow, with whom no
friendly ties could be formed, and left him to his own resources. He