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he might have before him the perfect； eternal type； uncorrupted and
untarnished by the struggle for existence？ Her shapely hands； I
observed； wore very fair and white； they lacked the traces of what is
called honest toil。
〃And the pictures； how do they come on？〃 she asked of Theobald； after
a long pause。
〃Finely； finely！ I have here a friend whose sympathy and
encouragement give me new faith and ardour。〃
Our hostess turned to me； gazed at me a moment rather inscrutably；
and then tapping her forehead with the gesture she had used a minute
before； 〃He has a magnificent genius！〃 she said； with perfect
gravity。
〃I am inclined to think so；〃 I answered； with a smile。
〃Eh； why do you smile？〃 she cried。 〃If you doubt it； you must see
the bambino！〃 And she took the lamp and conducted me to the other
side of the room； where on the wall； in a plain black frame； hung a
large drawing in red chalk。 Beneath it was fastened a little howl
for holy water。 The drawing represented a very young child； entirely
naked； half nestling back against his mother's gown； but with his two
little arms outstretched； as if in the act of benediction。 It was
executed with singular freedom and power； and yet seemed vivid with
the sacred bloom of infancy。 A sort of dimpled elegance and grace；
mingled with its boldness； recalled the touch of Correggio。 〃That's
what he can do！〃 said my hostess。 〃It's the blessed little boy whom
I lost。 It's his very image； and the Signor Teobaldo gave it me as a
gift。 He has given me many things besides！〃
I looked at the picture for some time and admired it immensely。
Turning back to Theobald I assured him that if it were hung among the
drawings in the Uffizi and labelled with a glorious name it would
hold its own。 My praise seemed to give him extreme pleasure； he
pressed my hands； and his eyes filled with tears。 It moved him
apparently with the desire to expatiate on the history of the
drawing； for he rose and made his adieux to our companion； kissing
her band with the same mild ardour as before。 It occurred to me that
the offer of a similar piece of gallantry on my own part might help
me to know what manner of woman she was。 When she perceived my
intention she withdrew her hand； dropped her eyes solemnly； and made
me a severe curtsey。 Theobald took my arm and led me rapidly into
the street。
〃And what do you think of the divine Serafina？〃 he cried with
fervour。
〃It is certainly an excellent style of good looks！〃 I answered。
He eyed me an instant askance； and then seemed hurried along by the
current of remembrance。 〃You should have seen the mother and the
child together； seen them as I first saw themthe mother with her
head draped in a shawl； a divine trouble in her face； and the bambino
pressed to her bosom。 You would have said； I think； that Raphael had
found his match in common chance。 I was coming in； one summer night；
from a long walk in the country； when I met this apparition at the
city gate。 The woman held out her hand。 I hardly knew whether to
say； 'What do you want？' or to fall down and worship。 She asked for
a little money。 I saw that she was beautiful and pale； she might
have stepped out of the stable of Bethlehem！ I gave her money and
helped her on her way into the town。 I had guessed her story。 She；
too； was a maiden mother； and she had been turned out into the world
in her shame。 I felt in all my pulses that here was my subject
marvellously realised。 I felt like one of the old monkish artists
who had had a vision。 I rescued the poor creatures； cherished them；
watched them as I would have done some precious work of art； some
lovely fragment of fresco discovered in a mouldering cloister。 In a
monthas if to deepen and sanctify the sadness and sweetness of it
allthe poor little child died。 When she felt that he was going she
held him up to me for ten minutes； and I made that sketch。 You saw a
feverish haste in it； I suppose； I wanted to spare the poor little
mortal the pain of his position。 After that I doubly valued the
mother。 She is the simplest； sweetest； most natural creature that
ever bloomed in this brave old land of Italy。 She lives in the
memory of her child； in her gratitude for the scanty kindness I have
been able to show her； and in her simple religion！ She is not even
conscious of her beauty； my admiration has never made her vain。
Heaven knows that I have made no secret of it。 You must have
observed the singular transparency of her expression； the lovely
modesty of her glance。 And was there ever such a truly virginal
brow； such a natural classic elegance in the wave of the hair and the
arch of the forehead？ I have studied her； I may say I know her。 I
have absorbed her little by little； my mind is stamped and imbued；
and I have determined now to clinch the impression； I shall at last
invite her to sit for me！〃
〃'At lastat last'？〃 I repeated； in much amazement。 〃Do you mean
that she has never done so yet？〃
〃I have not really hadaa sitting；〃 said Theobald； speaking very
slowly。 〃I have taken notes； you know； I have got my grand
fundamental impression。 That's the great thing！ But I have not
actually had her as a model； posed and draped and lighted； before my
easel。〃
What had become for the moment of my perception and my tact I am at a
loss to say； in their absence I was unable to repress a headlong
exclamation。 I was destined to regret it。 We had stopped at a
turning； beneath a lamp。 〃My poor friend；〃 I exclaimed； laying my
hand on his shoulder； 〃you have DAWDLED！ She's an old； old woman
for a Madonna！〃
It was as if I had brutally struck him； I shall never forget the
long； slow； almost ghastly look of pain； with which he answered me。
〃Dawdled？old； old？〃 he stammered。 〃Are you joking？〃
〃Why； my dear fellow； I suppose you don't take her for a woman of
twenty？〃
He drew a long breath and leaned against a house； looking at me with
questioning； protesting； reproachful eyes。 At last； starting
forward； and grasping my arm〃Answer me solemnly： does she seem to
you truly old？ Is she wrinkled； is she faded； am I blind？〃
Then at last I understood the immensity of his illusion how； one by
one； the noiseless years had ebbed away and left him brooding in
charmed inaction； for ever preparing for a work for ever deferred。
It seemed to me almost a kindness now to tell him the plain truth。
〃I should be sorry to say you are blind；〃 I answered； 〃but I think
you are deceived。 You have lost time in effortless contemplation。
Your friend was once young and fresh and virginal； but； I protest；
that was some years ago。 Still； she has de beaux restes。 By all
means make her sit for you！〃 I broke down； his face was too horribly
reproachful。
He took off his hat and stood passing his handkerchief mechanically
over his forehead。 〃De beaux restes？ I thank you for sparing me the
plain English。