kirt.
That too reminded the painter of the other.

It was she! She sat before his eyes in bodily form, with the perfume of
the form he loved.

From instinct, from habit, he took up his palette and a brush stained
with black, trying to trace the outlines of that figure. Ah, his hand
was old, heavy, trembling! Where had his old time skill fled, his
drawing, his striking qualities? Had he really ever painted? Was he
truly the painter Renovales? He had suddenly forgotten everything. His
head seemed empty, his hand paralyzed, the white canvas filled him with
a terror of the unknown. He did not know how to paint; he could not
paint. His efforts were useless; his mind was deadened. Perhaps,--some
other day. Now his ears hummed, his face was pale, his ears were red,
purple, as if they were on the point of dripping blood. In his mouth he
felt the torment of a deathly thirst.

The "Bella Fregolina" saw him throw down his palette and come toward her
with a wild expression.

But she felt no fear; she knew those distorted faces. This sudden rush
was no doubt part of the program; she was warned when she went there
after her friendly conversation with the son-in-law. That gentleman, so
serious and so imposing, was like all the men she knew, as brutal as the
rest.

She saw him come to her with open arms, take her in a close embrace,
fall at her feet with a hoarse cry, as if he were stifling; and she,
gently and sympathetically encouraged him, bending her head, offering
her lips with an automatic loving expression which was the implement of
her profession.

The kiss was enough to overcome the master completely.

"Josephina! Josephina!"

The perfume of the happy days rose from her clothes, surrounding her
adorable person. It was her form, her flesh! He was going to die at her
feet, suffocated by the immense desire that swelled within him. It was
she; her very eyes--her eyes! And as he raised his glance to lose
himself in their soft pupils, to gaze at himself in their trembling
mirror, he saw two cold eyes, which examined him, half closed with
professional curiosity, taking a scornful delight from their calm height
in this intoxication of the flesh, this madness which groveled, moaning
with desire.

Renovales was thunderstruck with surprise; he felt something icy run
down his back, paralyzing him; his eyes were veiled with a cloud of
disappointment and sorrow.

Was it really Josephina whom he had in his arms? It was her body