s and futile
entertainments of his wife. Poor girl, she must enjoy herself; that was
what he was working for. He was sorry enough that he could go with her
only in her evening diversions. During the day he entrusted her to his
faithful Cotoner who attended her like an old family servant, carrying
her bundles when she went shopping, performing the duties of butler and
sometimes of chef.

Renovales had made his acquaintance when he came to Rome. He was his
best friend. Ten years his senior, Cotoner showed the worship of a pupil
and the affections of an older brother for the young artist. Everyone in
Rome knew him, laughing at his pictures on the rare occasions when he
painted, and appreciated his accommodating nature that to some extent
dignified his parasite's existence. Short, rotund, bald-headed, with
projecting ears and the ugliness of a good-natured, merry satyr, Signor
Cotoner, when summer came, always found refuge in the castle of some
cardinal in the Roman Campagna. During the winter he was a familiar
sight in the Corso, wrapped in his greenish mackintosh, the sleeves of
which waved like a bat's wings. He had begun in his own province as a
landscape painter but he wanted to paint figures, to equal the masters,
and so he landed in Rome in the company of the bishop of his diocese who
looked on him as an honor to the church. He never moved from the city.
His progress was remarkable. He knew the names and histories of all the
artists, no one could compare with him in his ability to live
economically in Rome and to find where things were cheapest. If a
Spaniard went through the great city, he never missed visiting him. The
children of celebrated painters looked on him as a sort of nurse, for he
had put them all to sleep in his arms. The great triumph of his life was
having figured in the cavalcade of the Quixote as Sancho Panza. He
always painted the same picture, portraits of the Pope in three
different sizes, piling them up in the attic that served him for a
studio and bedroom. His friends, the cardinals whom he visited
frequently, took pity on "Poor Signor Cotoner" and for a few lire bought
a picture of the Pontiff horribly ugly, to present it to some village
church where it would arouse great admiration since it came from Rome
and was by a painter who was a friend of His Eminence.

These purchases were a ray of joy for Cotoner, who came to Renovales'
studio with his head up and wearing a smile of affected modesty.