"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
decision.
The warm air of the studio was very quiet. Voices drifted up from the
Grand Canal, and now and then the sound of bells.
The young man's eyes looked dreamily before him. He had forgotten the
studio and its occupant. He might have been listening to pleasant
words--to the sound of a voice.
"There!" Titian dropped the brush and stepped back. "We have done for
to-day." He surveyed the canvas critically.
The young man stepped to his side. He looked earnestly at the daubs and
lines of paint that streaked it. A smile crept over his dark face. "You
paint like no other," he said quietly.
Titian nodded. "Like no other," he repeated the words with satisfaction.
"They will not call it like Palma, this time--nor like Giorgione, nor
Signor Somebody Else." He spoke with mild irritation. His eyes travelled
over the lines of glowing canvas that covered the walls.
The young man's glance followed them. "No," he assented, "you have
outstepped them all.... You used them but to climb on." He moved toward
a canvas across the room.
"But this--" he laid his hand lightly on the frame--"this was after
Palma?" He turned his eyes with a look of inquiry.
Titian nodded curtly.
"It was the model--partly," he said half grudgingly.
"I know--Violante." Zarato spoke the name softly. He hesitated a moment.
"Would she pose for any one--for me, do you think?"
Titian laughed harshly. "Better not, my boy--Better not! When she gets
into a brush, it is a lost brush, Zarato--bewitched forever! Look
there--and there--and there!" His rapid hand flashed at the canvases.
The young man's eyes followed the gesture. "The result is not so bad,"
he said gravely.
Titian laughed back. "Not so bad!..." He studied them a minute. "You've
no idea how I had to fight to keep her out--And, oh, that hair!" He
groaned thoughtfully, looking at the canvases--"Palma's worse!" he
chuckled.
The young man started. A thought crossed his face and he looked up. "And
Giorgione?" he asked doubtingly.