led him by name with disconcerting familiarity.
He moved about the studio as if it were his own, as if he had spent his
whole life in it, indifferent to its beautiful decorations.

It would not be any trouble for him to undertake the preparation of a
speech. That was his specialty. Academic receptions and works for
members of Congress were his best field. He understood that the master
needed him--a painter!

And Renovales, who was beginning to find this Maltrana fellow attractive
in spite of his insolence, drew himself up to his full height in the
majesty of his fame. If it was a question of doing a picture for
admission, he was the man. But a speech!

"Agreed: you shall have the speech," said Maltrana. "It's an easy
matter, I know the recipe. We shall speak of the holy traditions of the
past, we shall despise certain daring innovations on the part of the
inexperienced youth, which were perfectly proper twenty years ago, when
you were beginning, but which now are out of place. Do you care for a
thrust at modernism?"

Renovales smiled, enchanted at the frankness with which this young
fellow spoke of his task, and he moved one hand to suggest a balance.
"Man alive! Like this. A just mean is what we want."

"Of course, Renovales; flatter the old men and not quarrel with the
young. You are a real master. You will be pleased with my work."

With the calmness of a shopkeeper, before the artist had a chance to
speak of the charge, he broached the matter. It would be two thousand
_reales_; he had already told Cotoner. The low tariff; the one he set
for people he liked.

"A man must live, Renovales. I have a son."

And his voice grew serious as he said this; his face, ugly and cynical,
became noble for a moment, reflecting the cares of paternal love.

"A son, dear master, for whom I do anything that turns up. If it is
necessary I will steal. He is the only thing I have in the world. His
mother died in misery in the hospital. I dreamt of being something, but
you can't think of nonsense when you have a baby. Between the hope of
being famous and the certainty of eating--eating is the first."

But his tenderness was not of long duration. He recovered the cold,
mercenary expression of a man who goes through life in an armor of
cynicism, disillusioned by misfortune, setting a price on all his acts.
They agreed on the sum; he should receive it when he handed over the
speech.

"And if you print it, as I hope," he said as he