wing, raised the
cloth from the wax model of the Urania, tried the clang of the lute
which hung against one of the canvas walls, was here, there, and
everywhere, and at last stood still in front of a large clay model,
placed in a corner of the studio, and closely wrapped in cloths.

"What may that be?" asked Claudia.

"No doubt a half-finished new model."

Balbilla felt the object in front of her with the tips of her fingers,
and said: "It seems to me to be a head. Something remarkable at any
rate. In these close covered dishes we sometimes find the best meat. Let
its unveil this shrouded portrait."

"Who knows what it may be?" said Claudia, as she loosened a twist in the
cloths which enveloped the bust. There are often very remarkable things
to be seen in such workshops.

"Hey, what, it is only a woman's head! I can feel it," cried Balbilla.

"But you can never tell," the older lady went on, untying a knot. "These
artists are such unfettered, unaccountable beings."

"Do you lift the top, I will pull here," and a moment later the young
Roman stood face to face with the caricature which Hadrian had moulded
on the previous evening, in all its grimacing ugliness. She recognized
herself in it at once, and at the first moment, laughed loudly, but the
longer she looked at the disfigured likeness, the more vexed, annoyed
and angry she became. She knew her own face, feature for feature, all
that was pretty in it, and all that was plain, but this likeness ignored
everything in her face that was not unpleasing, and this it emphasized
ruthlessly, and exaggerated with a refinement of spitefulness. The
head was hideous, horrible, and yet it was hers. As she studied it in
profile, she remembered what Pollux had declared he could read in her
features, and deep indignation rose up in her soul.

Her great inexhaustible riches, which allowed her the reckless
gratification of every whim, and secured consideration, even for her
follies, had not availed to preserve her from many disappointments which
other girls, in more modest circumstances, would have been spared. Her
kind heart and open hand had often been abused, even by artists, and it
was self-evident to her, that the man who could make this caricature,
who had so enjoyed exaggerating all that was unlovely in her face, had
wished to exercise his art on her features, not for her own sake, but
for that of the high price she might be inclined to pay for a flattering
likeness. Sh