The artist eyed him from top to toe, saying: "Well, well, it is really
very pretty. I suppose it is time now for us to begin to paint."

The lad did not know what had happened, for a few weeks before Moor had
harshly refused, when he asked the same thing now voluntarily offered.

Scarcely able to control his surprise and joy, he bent over the artist's
hand to kiss it, but the latter withdrew it, gazed steadily into his eyes
with paternal affection, and said: "We will try, my boy, but we must not
give up drawing, for that is the father of our art. Drawing keeps us
within the bounds assigned to what is true and beautiful. The morning you
must spend as before; after dinner you shall be rewarded by using
colors." This plan was followed, and the pupil's first love affair bore
still another fruit--it gave a different form to his relations with
Sanchez. The feeling that he had stood in his way and abused his
confidence sorely disturbed Ulrich, so he did everything in his power to
please his companion.

He did not see the fair Carmen again, and in a few weeks the appointment
was forgotten, for painting under Moor's instruction absorbed him as
nothing in his life had ever done before, and few things did after.

CHAPTER XVI.

Ulrich was now seventeen, and had been allowed to paint for four months.

Sanchez Coello rarely appeared in the studio, for he had gone to study
with the architect, Herrera; Isabella vied with Ulrich, but was speedily
outstripped by the German.

It seemed as if he had been born with the power to use the brush, and the
young girl watched his progress with unfeigned pleasure. When Moor
harshly condemned his drawing, her kind eyes grew dim with tears; if the
master looked at his studies with an approving smile, and showed them to
Sophonisba with words of praise, she was as glad as if they had been
bestowed upon herself.

The Italian came daily to the treasury as usual, to paint, talk or play
chess with Moor; she rejoiced at Ulrich's progress, and gave him many a
useful suggestion.

When the young artist once complained that he had no good models, she
gaily offered to sit to him. This was a new and unexpected piece of good
fortune. Day and night he thought only of Sophonisba. The sittings began.

The Italian wore a red dress, trimmed with gold embroidery, and a high
white lace ruff, that almost touched her cheeks. Her wavy brown hair
clung closely to the beautiful oval head, its heavy braids c