which hung opposite him in the center of the wall. The painting which this
frame inclosed could not be seen, for it was hidden from view by the green
silk drapery hanging before it, and at the side of the frame was suspended
a string. Gabriel Nietzel saw nothing of the paintings, he only saw the
green curtain, only the string which kept it fast. His whole soul spoke in
the glance which he directed to them.

Count Schwarzenberg intercepted this glance and smiled.

"You are certainly thinking of Raphael's exquisite Madonna," he said, "and
because that is always seen from the midst of a green curtain, you
suppose, probably, that behind this curtain must also be concealed a
Madonna and Child. Well, we shall see some day. Stay in your place, stir
not, speak not, and perhaps a miracle will take place, and you shall
behold _una Madonna col Bambino_ of flesh and blood. But silence, man, for
you well know how it is with treasure diggers: as soon as you speak, the
treasure vanishes. Now, then, look and stand still!"

He stepped across to the wall and grasped the string. The curtain flew
back and--there she stood, the Madonna with the Child in her arms, so
beautiful, so instinct with life and warmth, as only nature has ever
painted and art imitated from nature. There she stood with that richly
tinted olive complexion, with those transparent, softly reddened cheeks,
with those full crimson lips, with those large black eyes at once full of
mildness and fire, and with that broad and noble brow full of depth of
thought and yet full of repose. And in her arms that sweet child, that
vigorous boy so full of life, loosely clad in his little white shirt, that
left bare his plump arms and firm legs. Roses were on his cheeks, dimples
in his chin, and in the great black eyes lay the deep, earnest look, full
of innocence and wisdom, that is sometimes peculiar to children.

The painter had sunk upon his knees, stretching out both arms to the
picture, and from his eyes the tears flowed in clear streams over his
cheeks. But indignantly he shook them away, for they prevented him from
seeing the Madonna, _his_ Madonna. Prayers he murmured up to her, prayers
of love and confidence, supplications for steadfastness in danger, for
courageous perseverance during separation. But he ventured not to address
them audibly to the beloved Madonna, for he knew that a mere word would
have snatched her away from him.

And she, she knew it too, and therefore