but
he had put off reading the praises until later. They did not interest
him; he was thinking of something else--he was sad.

And in answer to Cotoner's anxious questions, who thought he must be
ill, he said quietly:

"I am well enough. It's melancholy. I'm tired of doing nothing. I want
to work and haven't the strength."

Suddenly he interrupted his old friend, pointing to all the portraits
of Josephina, as if they were new works which he had just produced.

Cotoner expressed surprise. He knew them all; they had been there for
years. What was strange about them?

The master told him of his recent surprise. He had lived beside them
without seeing them, he had just discovered them two hours before. And
Cotoner laughed.

"You are rather unsettled, Mariano. You live without noticing what is
around you. That is why you don't know of Soldevilla's marriage to a
rich girl. The poor boy was disappointed because his master was not
present at the wedding."

Renovales shrugged his shoulders. What did he care for such follies?
There was a long pause and the master, pensive and sad, suddenly raised
his head with a determined expression.

"What do you think of those portraits, Pepe?" he asked anxiously. "Is it
she? I couldn't have made a mistake in painting them, I couldn't have
seen her different from what she really was, could I?"

Cotoner broke out laughing. Really, the master was out of his mind. What
questions! Those portraits were marvels, like all of his work. But
Renovales insisted with the impatience of doubt. His opinion! Were those
Josephinas like his wife!

"Exactly," said the Bohemian. "Why, man alive, their fidelity to life is
the most astonishing thing about your portraits!"

He declared this confidently, but a shadow of doubt worried him. Yes, it
was Josephina, but there was something unusual, idealized about her. Her
features looked the same, but they had an inner light that made them
more beautiful. It was a defect he had always found in these pictures,
but he said nothing.

"And she," insisted the master, "was she really beautiful? What did you
think of her as a woman? Tell me, Pepe,--without hesitating. It's
strange, I can't remember very well what she was like."

Cotoner was disconcerted by these questions, and answered with some
embarrassment. What an odd thing! Josephina was very good--an angel; he
always remembered her with gratitude. He had wept for her as for a
mother, though she might almo