tion, she was reckless of discovery. After all,
her Prince was proving exceptionally stupid and complaisant. Her words
were gospel to him; and her frequent invisibility seemed only to whet
his appetite for to-morrow.

Meantime Joseph, perfectly ignorant of his road, careless of the future,
enamoured of each passing hour, left Irina absolutely free so far as her
course was concerned. He himself, however, was neglecting his
professional duties. All the work he did was upon two portraits of her;
for he had decided to finish for himself that first, Carmen-like
creation so happily seized upon. Meantime, there was another for the
Prince; in which the too-vivid draperies were toned down to pinkish
clouds; the background left in misty indecision; and all his care
expended on the face: a face that presently looked forth from the canvas
with a gaze so startlingly lifelike, that Irina herself frequently
shivered at its uncanny reality.

No. There could be no doubt about the marvel of Joseph's present
technique. Yet, for all that, he had already lost something of his
former purity of style. And now, for six long months, he worked at
nothing but studies of the same subject; knowing only the criticisms of
Irina herself. The days of honest labor and study, the earnest
self-criticism and self-examination, were gone. For the moment he might
believe himself to be of the elect few. But the period was brief; and,
with the coming of the first cloud, the whole horizon suddenly grew
black.

It was the early twilight of an October day. For the third or fourth
time, Irina had failed in her appointment, and Joseph, sitting alone,
waiting for the sound of her step, had drifted into a reverie concerning
himself and his summer's work. He was kneeling in the midst of a dusty
little group of last year's studies, regarding them with newly
contemplative eyes. Were they, after all, with all their muddy color and
uncertain composition, better--actually _better_, in the fundamentals
that count, than those two glorified forms that ruled the room?--For the
first time since the very beginning, he doubted: began to feel a
weariness of that garish sea of color, beside which the dull little
studies suddenly looked so quietly restful; so sincere.

He had come thus far in his musing; and his face was troubled; his blue
eyes had darkened, when, suddenly, without warning, his door was flung
wide. The well-known, silken swish of skirts, a breath of the familiar