oor.

"And is that all you have done?" said Mervale, glancing disdainfully
at the canvas. "Is it for this that you have shut yourself out from the
sunny days and moonlit nights of Naples?"

"While the fit was on me, I basked in a brighter sun, and imbibed the
voluptuous luxury of a softer moon."

"You own that the fit is over. Well, that is some sign of returning
sense. After all, it is better to daub canvas for three days than make a
fool of yourself for life. This little siren?"

"Be dumb! I hate to hear you name her."

Mervale drew his chair nearer to Glyndon's, thrust his hands deep in his
breeches-pockets, stretched his legs, and was about to begin a serious
strain of expostulation, when a knock was heard at the door, and Nicot,
without waiting for leave, obtruded his ugly head.

"Good-day, mon cher confrere. I wished to speak to you. Hein! you have
been at work, I see. This is well,--very well! A bold outline,--great
freedom in that right hand. But, hold! is the composition good? You have
not got the great pyramidal form. Don't you think, too, that you have
lost the advantage of contrast in this figure; since the right leg is
put forward, surely the right arm should be put back? Peste! but that
little finger is very fine!"

Mervale detested Nicot. For all speculators, Utopians, alterers of the
world, and wanderers from the high road, were equally hateful to
him; but he could have hugged the Frenchman at that moment. He saw
in Glyndon's expressive countenance all the weariness and disgust he
endured. After so wrapped a study, to be prated to about pyramidal
forms and right arms and right legs, the accidence of the art, the whole
conception to be overlooked, and the criticism to end in approval of the
little finger!

"Oh," said Glyndon, peevishly, throwing the cloth over his design,
"enough of my poor performance. What is it you have to say to me?"

"In the first place," said Nicot, huddling himself together upon
a stool,--"in the first place, this Signor Zanoni,--this second
Cagliostro,--who disputes my doctrines! (no doubt a spy of the man
Capet) I am not vindictive; as Helvetius says, 'our errors arise from
our passions.' I keep mine in order; but it is virtuous to hate in the
cause of mankind; I would I had the denouncing and the judging of Signor
Zanoni at Paris." And Nicot's small eyes shot fire, and he gnashed his
teeth.

"Have you any new cause to hate him?"

"Yes," said Nicot, fiercely. "Yes,