whose works were there in competition. In all there were some ten
competitors: poor Luca, who had set his own work on the table with
the rest as he was obliged to do, stood hindmost of all, shrinking
back, to hide his misery, into the deepest shadow of the deep-
bayed latticed window.

On the narrow deal benches that served as tables on working days
to the pottery painters were ranged the dishes and the jars, with
a number attached to each--no name to any, because Signor
Benedetto was resolute to prove his own absolute disinterestedness
in the matter of choice: he wished for the best artist. Prince
Guidobaldo, doffing his plumed cap courteously, walked down the
long room and examined each production in its turn. On the whole,
the collection made a brave display of majolica, though he was
perhaps a little disappointed at the result in each individual
case, for he had wanted something out of the common run and
absolutely perfect. Still, with fair words he complimented Signor
Benedetto on the brave show, and only before the work of poor Luca
was he entirely silent, since indeed silence was the greatest
kindness he could show to it: the drawing was bold and regular,
but the coloring was hopelessly crude, glaring, and ill-disposed.

At last, before a vase and a dish that stood modestly at the very
farthest end of the deal bench, the duke gave a sudden exclamation
of delight, and Signor Benedetto grew crimson with pleasure and
surprise, and Giovanni Sanzio pressed a little nearer and tried to
see over the shoulders of the gentlemen of the court, feeling sure
that something rare and beautiful must have called forth that cry
of wonder from the Lord of Montefeltro, and having seen at a
glance that for his poor friend Luca there was no sort of hope.