ice, moodily.

"My dear sir," said Gouache, desisting from his work and turning towards
Ugo, "Madame is quite right. I not only do not quarrel, but I refuse to
be quarrelled with. You have my most solemn assurance that whatever has
previously passed here, whatever I have heard said by you, by Donna
Tullia, by Valdarno, by any of your friends, I regard as an inviolable
secret. You formerly said I had no convictions, and you were right. I had
none, and I listened to your exposition of your own with considerable
interest. My case is changed. I need not tell you what I believe, for I
wear the uniform of a Papal Zouave. When I put it on, I certainly did not
contemplate offending you; I do not wish to offend you now--I only beg
that you will refrain from offending me. For my part, I need only say
that henceforth I do not desire to take a part in your councils. If Donna
Tullia is satisfied with her portrait, there need be no further occasion
for our meeting. If, on the contrary, we are to meet again, I beg that we
may meet on a footing of courtesy and mutual respect."

It was impossible to say more; and Gouache's speech terminated the
situation so far as Del Ferice was concerned. Donna Tullia smilingly
expressed her approval.

"Quite right, Gouache," she said. "You know it would be impossible to
leave the portrait as it is now. The mouth, you know--you promised to do
something to it--just the expression, you know."

Gouache bowed his head a little, and set to work again without a word.
Del Ferice did not speak again during the sitting, but sat moodily
staring at the canvas, at Donna Tullia, and at the floor. It was not
often that he was moved from his habitual suavity of manner, but
Gouache's conduct had made him feel particularly uncomfortable.

The next time Donna Tullia came to sit, she brought her old Countess, and
Del Ferice did not appear. The portrait was ultimately finished to the
satisfaction of all parties, and was hung in Donna Tullia's drawing-room,
to be admired and criticised by all her friends. But Gouache rejoiced
when the thing was finally removed from his studio, for he had grown to
hate it, and had been almost willing to flatter it out of all likeness to
Madame Mayer, for the sake of not being eternally confronted by the cold
stare of her blue eyes. He finished the Cardinal's portrait too; and the
statesman not only paid for it with unusual liberality, but gave the
artist what he called a little memento