in his purpose; for the artist
Coello's body-servant came out of the treasury, and willingly announced
him to his master, who now, as court-artist, occupied Moor's quarters.

Ulrich followed the friendly Pablo into the palace, where every step he
mounted reminded him of his old master and former days.

When he at last stood in the anteroom, and the odor of the fresh
oil-colors, which were being ground in an adjoining room, reached his
nostrils, he inhaled it no less eagerly than, an hour before, he had
breathed the fresh air, of which he had been so long deprived.

What reception could he expect? The court-artist might easily shrink
from coming in contact with the pupil of Moor, who had now lost the
sovereign's favor. Coello was a very different man from the Master, a
child of the moment, varying every day. Sometimes haughty and repellent,
on other occasions a gay, merry companion, who had jested with his
own children and Ulrich also, as if all were on the same footing. If
today... but Ulrich did not have much time for such reflections; a few
minutes after Pablo left, the door was torn open, and the whole Coello
family rushed joyously to meet him; Isabella first. Sanchez followed
close behind her, then came the artist, next his stout, clumsy wife,
whom Ulrich had rarely seen, because she usually spent the whole day
lying on a couch with her lap-dog. Last of all appeared the duenna
Catalina, a would-be sweet smile hovering around her lips.

The reception given him by the others was all the more joyous and
cordial.

Isabella laid her hands on his arm, as if she wanted to feel that it was
really he; and yet, when she looked at him more closely, she shook
her head as if there was something strange in his appearance. Sanchez
embraced him, whirling him round and round, Coello shook hands,
murmuring many kind words, and the mother turned to the duenna,
exclaiming:

"Holy Virgin! what has happened to the pretty boy? How famished he
looks! Go to the kitchen instantly, Catalina, and tell Diego to bring
him food--food and drink."

At last they all pulled and pushed him into the sitting-room, where the
mother immediately threw herself on the couch again; then the others
questioned him, making him tell them how he had fared, whence he came,
and many other particulars.

He was no longer hungry, but Senora Petra insisted upon his seating
himself near her couch and eating a capon, while he told his story.

Every face expres