kened a little, and the music deepened.

Titian sat watching them, his head in its velvet cap, thrown back
against the cushions, his lips smiling dreamily. His eye strayed over
the voluptuous figure at his side--the snowy tunic and the ruby-red
bodice and skirt. He knew the figure well, the red-gold hair and
wondrous eyes. But a new look had come into them--something tender,
almost sweet.

He leaned forward as the music ceased. "You shall pose for me," he said
under his breath. "I want you for the Duke's picture."

She nodded slightly, her bosom rising and falling.

Giorgione leaned forward, smiling.

"What is that?" he asked. His eyes rested tenderly on the flushed face
and the full lips of his wife. "What is it you say?"

"I want her for Bacchante," said Titian, "for the Duke's picture." He
had not removed his eyes from her face.

Giorgione smiled. Then his face darkened. "My frescos! Oh, my frescos!"
he murmured tragically. "But _you_ will help, Zarato. You will not go
paint for dukes and popes?" The tone was half laughing and half
querulous.

The young man roused himself and looked at him questioningly. He drew
his hand across his eyes. "What is it?" he said dreamily. "What is it?"
His face flushed. "Help you? Yes, I will help you--if--I can."

II

"A little more to the right, please."

Titian's eyes studied the figure before him thoughtfully. His voice
murmured half-articulate words, and his glance ran swiftly from the
sitter to his canvas.

"That is good." He gave a sigh of satisfaction. "Can you hold that--ten
minutes, say!" He had taken up his brush and was painting with swift
strokes.

The young man before him smiled a little. The dark, handsome face
lighted under it and glowed. "I will do my best." The quiet irony in the
tone laughed gently.

Titian smiled back. "I forget that you are of the craft. You have too
much of the grand air, Zarato, to belong to us."

"I am indebted to you!" said the young man politely. He lifted his hand
with a courtly gesture, half mocking and half sincere. It dropped easily
to the console beside him.

With rapid touches Titian sketched it as it lay. His face glowed with
satisfaction, and he worked with eager haste. "Good!--Good!" he murmured
under his breath. "It will be great. You will see.... You will see." He
hummed softly to himself, his glance flashing up and down the tall
figure before him, inserting a touch here and a line there, with swift
deci