re on the wall of
our dining-room. The devil must be in it, if we don't succeed in
producing something that will throw the Casa Bartoldi deep into the
shade."

He knew when he said this what a great proposal he had let fall upon
the listening soul of his friend.

Kohle, like all art apostles of his stamp, despised easel and oil
painting, as it is usually practised. On the other hand, the great aim
of his longing and ambition was to be able, just for once, to wield his
fresco brush to his heart's content on a wall a hundred feet long; and
his friends were fond of plaguing him about a wish that had once
escaped him--"My life for a bare wall!" Heretofore no one had been
willing to entrust him with a square yard of his house, or even of his
garden, for this purpose. And now, suddenly, he had only to put forth
his hand, and see his greatest desire for monumental art-creation
fulfilled.

At first he could not believe in such overwhelming good-fortune. But
when the look of glad surprise and trembling doubt which he cast upon
his host encountered a perfectly serious face, he could no longer hold
himself in his chair. He sprang to his feet, threw his shabby black hat
high into the air, and, with outstretched arms and glowing face,
prepared to throw himself upon his friend, who was slowly strolling
back and forth. "Brother!" he cried, in a half-stifled voice, "this--
this--" But Rossel suddenly stood still and made a motion with his
hand, which checked the enthusiast in the very height of his wild
excitement.

The remembrance of a similar moment, when his heart had overflowed
toward his friend, and he had been upon the verge of formally offering
him "good-comradeship," came back to him with a rude shock. Then the
word had not yet passed his lips, when Rossel, at the very same moment,
though apparently without intention, had begun to speak of his aversion
to the display of tenderness among men, and had frightened away this
outburst of brotherly affection. And could it be that even now the ice
was not to be broken between them, and that this fulfillment of the
dearest wish of his life was nothing but the favor of a gracious
patron, a whim on the part of the rich host toward the poor devil who
sat at his hospitable table? His proud, sensitive soul was just on the
point of revolting against this, when from afar off a sound struck upon
his ear, which, as he instantly perceived, had been heard by Edward
sooner than by him, and wh