, on some secluded beach at Valencia or in
Catalonia; he would have to build a cabin on the very edge of the sand
where the water breaks with its bright reflections, and take woman after
woman there, a hundred if it was necessary, in order to study the
whiteness of their skin against the blue of the sea and sky, until he
found the divine body of the Phryne he had dreamed.

"Very difficult," murmured Renovales. "I tell you it is very difficult.
There are so many obstacles to struggle against."

Cotoner leaned forward with a confidential expression.

"And besides, there's the mistress," he said in a quiet voice, looking
at the door with a sort of fear. "I don't believe Josephina would be
very much pleased with this picture and its pack of models."

The master lowered his head.

"If you only knew, Pepe! If you could see the life I lead every day!"

"I know what it is," Cotoner hastened to say, "or rather, I can imagine.
Don't tell me anything."

And in his haste to avoid the sad confidences of his friend, there was a
great deal of selfishness, the desire not to disturb his peaceful calm
with other men's sorrows that excite only a distant interest.

Renovales spoke after a long silence. He often wondered whether an
artist ought to be married or single. Other men, of weak, hesitating
character needed the support of a comrade, the atmosphere of a family.

He recalled with relish the first few months of his married life; but
since then it had weighed on him like a chain. He did not deny the
existence of love; he needed the sweet company of a woman in order to
live, but with intermissions, without the endless imprisonment of common
life. Artists like himself ought to be free, he was sure of it.

"Oh, Pepe, if I had only stayed like you, master of my time and my work,
without having to think what my family will say if they see me painting
this or that, what great things I should have done!"

The old man, who had failed in all his tasks, was going to say something
when the door of the studio opened and Renovales' servant came in, a
little man with fat red cheeks and a high voice which, according to
Cotoner, sounded like the messenger of a monastery.

"The countess."

Cotoner jumped out of his armchair. Those models didn't like to see
people in the studio. How could he get out? Renovales helped him to find
his hat, coat and cane, which with his usual carelessness he had left in
different corners of the studio.

The