avel, but said it was still too soon. He must first finish the work
he had undertaken in the riding-school, then he himself would smooth the
way to Italy for him. To leave him, so heavily burdened, in the lurch
now, would be treating him ungratefully and basely.

Ulrich was forced to acknowledge this, and continued to paint on the
scaffold, but his pleasure in creating was spoiled. He thought of
nothing but Italy.

Every hour in Madrid seemed lost. His lofty purposes were unsettled,
and he began to seek diversion for his mind, especially at the
fencing-school with Sanchez Coello.

His eye was keen, his wrist pliant, and his arm was gaining more and
more of his father's strength, so he soon performed extraordinary feats.

His remarkable skill, his reserved nature, and the natural charm of his
manner soon awakened esteem and regard among the young Spaniards, with
whom he associated.

He was invited to the banquets given by the wealthier ones, and to
join the wild pranks, in which they sometimes indulged, but spite of
persuasions and entreaties, always in vain.

Ulrich needed no comrades, and his zechins were sacred to him; he was
keeping them for Italy.

The others soon thought him an odd, arrogant fellow, with whom no
friendly ties could be formed, and left him to his own resources. He
wandered about the streets at night alone, serenaded fair ladies,
and compelled many gentlemen, who offended him, to meet him in single
combat.

No one, not even Sanchez Coello, was permitted to know of these
nocturnal adventures; they were his chief pleasure, stirred his blood,
and gave him the blissful consciousness of superior strength.

This mode of life increased his self-confidence, and expressed itself in
his bearing, which gained a touch of the Spanish air. He was now fully
grown, and when he entered his twentieth year, was taller than most
Castilians, and carried his head as high as a grandee.

Yet he was dissatisfied with himself, for he made slow progress in his
art, and cherished the firm conviction that there was nothing more for
him to learn in Madrid; Coello's commissions were robbing him of the
most precious time.

The work in the riding-school was at last approaching completion. It had
occupied far more than the year in which it was to have been finished,
and His Majesty's impatience had become so great, that Coello was
compelled to leave everything else, to paint only there, and put his
improving touches to