with the face of a Gorgon
and the figure of a Juno, who posed for the _ensemble_. She stood
against the dark crimson background, outlined pure and white like a
marvel of Phidian sculpture upon which the Spirit of Life had slightly
breathed. So still, so white, so coldly, purely statuesque she seemed,
that one sometimes entirely forgot that she was else than the fair
statue born from the block of marble at the command of a divine genius,
till the chiselled arms were seen to quiver and the sculptured knees to
almost bend. Then a reproachful cry ran through the atelier: "Shame!
shame! We have forgotten that she was a woman and not a statue, and
have kept her posing two hours without a repose."

"How much do you earn by this wearisome business?" asked Paletta
pityingly as the tired model, wrapped in a threadbare waterproof,
cowered over the stove during "the repose."

"If I pose for a half day of each week like this in an atelier des
dames, I earn twenty-five francs a week, but what I earn by posing for
artists in private studios depends much upon chance. Sometimes I am
needed only for a leg or arm or bust, or even hand: then I earn less of
course, for it makes broken hours. I would demand much more from the
ateliers des dames had I a handsome face, but always my ensemble is
painted with the head of a prettier model where there is any purpose of
using me in a picture."

"Do you become often as fatigued as you are now?" continued Paletta.

"Often more so. I have posed for nearly an hour upon one foot with
extended arms in a dance of bacchantes, till I have fainted. Oftentimes
I am kept in a running position upon one foot, with the other far behind
me, in Atalanta's race; sometimes suspended by cords from the ceiling,
with arms and legs in horribly uncomfortable positions, till everything
seems to spin before me."

"Do you dislike to pose for male artists?" asked Paletta.

"Dislike? Why should I with so fine a figure as this?" answered the
woman, throwing off her cloak to resume her pose. "I'd like it better if
I had a handsome face, but I'd like it much worse if I had flabby flesh
or buniony feet."

Paletta saw that no question of modesty entered the model's mind, and
she went back to her easel to paint the rounded limbs and marble
huelessness of fair Dian, chastest of all Olympia's deities, wondering
if, after all, what is called modesty does not come as much of habit as
of nature--if the veiled face of the Orienta