ed him to attain in art. He knew and felt
that this was the right goal; but one thing was certain, he could never
attain it with pencil and charcoal. What his soul dreamed, what his
mental vision beheld was colored. Drawing, perpetual drawing, became
burdensome, repulsive, hateful; but with palette and brush in his hand he
could not fail to become an artist, perhaps an artist like Titian.

He already used colors in secret; Sanchez Coello had been the cause of
his making the first trial.

This precocious youth was suing for a fair girl's favor, and made Ulrich
his confidant. One day, when Moor and Sanchez's father had gone with the
king to Toledo, he took him to a balcony in the upper story of the
treasury, directly opposite to the gate-keeper's lodgings, and only
separated by a narrow court-yard from the window, where sat pretty
Carmen, the porter's handsome daughter.

The girl was always to be found here, for her father's room was very
dark, and she was compelled to embroider priestly robes from morning till
night. This pursuit brought in money, which was put to an excellent use
by the old man, who offered sacrifices to his own comfort at the
cook-shop, and enjoyed fish fried in oil with his Zamora wine. The better
her father's appetite was, the more industriously the daughter was
obliged to embroider. Only on great festivals, or when an 'Auto-da-fe'
was proclaimed, was Carmen permitted to leave the palace with her old
aunt; yet she had already found suitors. Nineteen-year-old Sanchez did
not indeed care for her hand, but merely for her love, and when it began
to grow dusk, he stationed himself on the balcony which he had
discovered, made signs to her, and flung flowers or bonbons on her table.

"She is still coy," said the young Spaniard, telling Ulrich to wait at
the narrow door, which opened upon the balcony. "There sits the angel!
Just look! I gave her the pomegranate blossom in her magnificent
hair--did you ever see more beautiful tresses? Take notice! She'll soon
melt; I know women!"

Directly after a bouquet of roses fell into the embroiderer's lap. Carmen
uttered a low cry, and perceiving Sanchez, motioned him away with her
head and hand, finally turning her back upon him.

"She's in a bad humor to-day," said Sanchez; "but I beg you to notice
that she'll keep my roses. She'll wear one to-morrow in her hair or on
her bosom; what will you wager?"

"That may be," answered Ulrich. "She probably has no money