Giorgione gripped it for a moment. Tears waited behind the eyes and
clouded the look of trust. "I could bear it if--if Zarato was not my
friend," he said as he turned away.
"Keep faith while you may," said Titian, following him a step. "He who
distrusts a friend lends thunderbolts to the gods," he quoted softly.
"Remind him that he is to sit for me this afternoon," he called more
lightly, as the other moved away.
"I will remember," said Giorgione soberly. The next moment he had
disappeared in the maze of buildings.
Titian, looking after him, shook his head slowly. He turned and gathered
up some tools from a bench near by.... The look in his friend's eyes
haunted him.
V
It still haunted him as he laid out brushes and colors in his studio for
the appointed sitting with Zarato.
He brought the canvas from the wall and placed it on the easel and stood
back, examining it critically. His face lighted and he hummed softly,
gazing at the rough outline.... Slowly, in the smudge of the vague face,
gleaming eyes formed themselves--Giorgione's eyes! They looked out at
him, pathetic and fierce.
With an exclamation of disgust he threw down the brush. He looked about
him for his cap, and found it at last--on the back of his head. He
settled it more firmly in place. "There will be time," he muttered. "I
shall be back in time." With a swift glance about him he was gone from
the room, and on the way to Giorgione's studio.
As he opened the door he saw Giorgione's great figure huddled together
against the eastern window. Bars of light fell across it and danced on
the floor. Titian crossed the studio quickly and touched the bent
shoulder.
The eyes that looked up were those that had called him. Giorgione's
eyes--a fierce, pathetic light in their depths. They gazed at him
stupidly. "What is it?" asked the man. He spoke thickly and half rose,
gazing curiously about the room. He ran a hand across his forehead and
looked at Titian vaguely. "What is it?" he repeated.
Titian fell back a step. "That's what I came to find out," he said
frankly. He was more startled than he cared to show.
"What has happened, Giorgione?" His tone was gentle, as if speaking to a
child, and he took him by the shoulder to lead him to a seat.
For a moment the man resisted. Then he let himself be led, passively,
and sank back in the chair with a hoarse sigh. He looked about the
studio as if seeking something--and afraid of it. "She's gone!" he
whispered.