The young man smiled.
Titian watched him closely. "You need not fear his not suffering," he
said significantly. "Go watch through his window, or by a crack in the
door."--He waited a breath. "The man is mad!"
The young man started sharply.
"Mad!" repeated Titian.
Zarato turned on him a look of horror and exultation. "Mad!" he repeated
softly. The gloved hand trembled.
A look of relief stole into Titian's face. "Does that satisfy you?" he
asked quietly. "Will you go?"
"Yes, I will go." The young man rose. He moved toward the door. "Mad!"
he whispered softly.
"Wait," said Titian. He sprang before him. "Not by daylight--you would
be murdered in the open street! You must wait till night.... I shall row
you, myself, out from the city. It is arranged. A boat waits for you."
The young man looked at him gratefully. "You take this risk for me?" he
said humbly.
"For you and Giorgione and for--her."
They sat silent.
"He will never paint again," said the young man, looking up quickly with
the thought.
Titian shook his head. "Never again," he said slowly.
The young man looked at him. "There are a dozen pictures begun," he
said, "a dozen and more."
"Yes."
"Who will finish them?"
"Who can tell?" The painter's face had clouded.
"Shall you?"
Titian returned the suspicious gaze frankly. "It is not likely," he
said. "He will not speak to me or see me. He says I am false to him--I
harbor you."
The young man's gaze fell. "I will go," he said humbly. He shivered a
little.
"And not return till I send for you."
"I will not return--till you send for me!"