hear no more. Come, father! If he loves me, he will understand how to
win me. I am afraid of this man."

Ulrich now knew who was in fault, and who in the right. Strong impulse
urged him away from the studio, away from Art and his betrothed bride;
for he had forfeited all the best things in life.

But Coello barred his way. He was not the man, for the sake of a brawl
and luck at play, to break friendship with the faithful companion, who
had shown distinctly enough how fondly he loved his darling. He had
hidden behind these bushes himself in his youth, and yet become a skilful
artist and good husband.

He willingly yielded to his wife in small matters, in important ones he
meant to remain master of the house. Herrera was a great scholar and
artist, but an insignificant man; and he allowed himself to be paid
like a bungler. Ulrich's manly beauty had pleased him, and under his,
Coello's teaching, he would make his mark. He, the father knew better
what suited Isabella than she herself. Girls do not sob so bitterly as
she had done, as soon as the door of the studio closed behind her, unless
they are in love.

Whence did she obtain this cool judgment? Certainly not from him, far
less from her mother.

Perhaps she only wished to arouse Navarrete to do his best at the trial.
Coello smiled; it was in his power to judge mildly.

So he detained Ulrich with cheering words, and gave him a task in which
he could probably succeed. He was to paint a Madonna and Child, and two