's spell, and there was no reason at all, according to such
reckoning, why the handsome and impulsive Alexis should escape. That a
pretty Parisienne who was also an artist should fail to offer herself as
a willing bait did not enter at all into the calculation.

"Be suave, spend money, and keep in the background," said the Greek.

Julius entered the Grande Galerie prepared to apply these instructions
through the medium of his own subtle wit. At the outset, luck favored
him. Somehow, it is always easier to do evil than good, and the
longevity of evil is notorious, whereas the short lived existence of
good would horrify an insurance agent.

Joan was not present; but Felix Poluski was preparing a canvas for his
twenty-seventh copy of the famous Murillo. Two of his "Immaculate
Conceptions" were in private collections; one had been sold to a South
American millionaire as the Spanish artist's own duplicate of the
picture, though Poluski was unaware of the fraud; and twenty-three
adorned the high altars of various continental churches, where they
edified multitudes happily ignorant of the irreverent conditions under
which the cheery souled anarchist hunchback droned his snatches of song
and extracted from a few tubes of paint some glimpse of heaven, and rays
of sunlight, and hints of divine love and divine maternity.

The crooked little Pole's genius and character were alike unknown to
Count Julius. He saw only a quaintly artistic personage who might
possibly be acquainted with such a remarkable looking habitue of the
gallery as Joan. Instead, therefore, of appealing to one of the
officials, he approached Poluski, and the two exchanged greetings with
the politeness that Paris quickly teaches to those who dwell within her
gates.

"You work in this gallery most days, monsieur?" said Julius.

"But yes, monsieur," said Felix.

"About a fortnight ago, monsieur," explained Marulitch, "I happened to
be here at this hour, and I noticed a young lady copying one of the
pictures on the opposite wall. Can you tell me who she was?"

"Can you tell me which picture she was copying?" said Poluski.

"I am not sure; this one, I think," and Julius pointed to "The Fortune
Teller."

"Ah! Describe her, monsieur."

"She was tall, elegant, charming in manner and appearance."

Poluski appeared to reflect. "The vision sounds entrancing, monsieur,"
he said; "but that sort of girl doesn't usually earn her crusts by
daubing canvas in the Lou