She was of just your age; she is dead at eighteen, and her father commissioned me to paint her in death .-- Pour me out some water; then I will proceed as coldly as a man crying the description of a runaway slave." He drank a deep draught, and wandered restlessly up and down in front of his sister, while he told her all that had happened to him during the last few days.
The day before yesterday, at noon, he had left the inn where he had been carousing with friends, gay and careless, and had obeyed the call of Seleukus.

Just before raising the knocker he had been singing cheerfully to himself.

Never had he felt more fully content--the gayest of the gay.
One of the first men in the town, and a connoisseur, had honored him with a fine commission, and the prospect of painting something dead had pleased him.

His old master had often admired the exquisite delicacy of the flesh-tones of a recently deceased body.

As his glance fell on the implements that his slave carried after him, he had drawn himself up with the proud feeling of having before him a noble task, to which he felt equal.