al other artists, entered the studio.

He looked at the picture, then at Ulrich, and said with an approving
smile: "See, see! Not too much of the Jew, and a perfect apostle!
A Paul, or with longer hair and a little more youthful aspect, an
admirable St. John. Well done, well done! my son!"

Well done, well done! These words from Titian had ennobled his work;
they echoed loudly in his soul, and the measure of his bliss threatened
to overflow, when no less a personage than the famous Paolo Veronese,
invited him to come to his studio as a pupil on Saturday.

Enraptured, animated by fresh hope, he threw himself into his gondola.

Everyone had left the palace, where he lodged with de Soto. Who would
remain at home on the evening of Shrove-Tuesday?

The lonely rooms grew too confined for him.

Quiet days would begin early the next morning, and on Saturday a new,
fruitful life in the service of the only true word, Art, divine
Art, would commence for him. He would enjoy this one more evening of
pleasure, this night of joy; drain it to the dregs. He fancied he had
won a right that day to taste every bliss earth could give.

Torches, pitch-pans and lamps made the square of St. Mark's as bright as
day, and the maskers crowded upon its smooth pavement as if it were the
floor of an immense ball-room.

Intoxicating music, loud laughter, low, tender whispers, sweet odors
from the floating tresses of fair women bewildered Ulrich's senses,
already confused by success and joy. He boldly accosted every one,
and if he suspected that a fair face was concealed under a mask, drew
nearer, touched the strings of a lute, that hung by a purple ribbon
round his neck, and in the notes of a tender song besought love.

Many a wave of the fan rewarded, many an angry glance from men's dark
eyes rebuked the bold wooer. A magnificent woman of queenly height now
passed, leaning on the arm of a richly-dressed cavalier.

Was not that the fair Claudia, who a short time before had lost enormous
sums at the gaming-table in the name of the rich Grimani, and who had
invited Ulrich to visit her later, during Lent?

It was, he could not be mistaken, and now followed the pair like a
shadow, growing bolder and bolder the more angrily the cavalier rebuffed
him with wrathful glances and harsh words; for the lady did not cease
to signify that she recognized him and enjoyed his playing. But the
nobleman was not disposed to endure this offensive sport. Pausing