How often this subject is painted! If Meister Antonio, if Moor should see this...." "Then, then ?" asked Ulrich, his eyes glowing with a gloomy fire.
"He would compel you to begin at the beginning once more.

I am sincerely sorry for you, and not less so for poor Belita.

My wife will triumph! You know I have always upheld your cause; but this luckless work...." "Enough!" interrupted the youth.

Rushing to the picture, he thrust his maul-stick through it, then kicked easel and painting to the floor.
Coello, shaking his head, watched him, and tried to soothe him with kindly words, but Ulrich paid no heed, exclaiming: "It is all over with art, all over.

A Dios, Master! Your daughter does not care for love without art, and art and I have nothing more to do with each other." At the door he paused, strove to regain his self-control, and at last held out his hand to Coello, who was gazing sorrowfully after him.
The artist gladly extended his, and Ulrich, pressing it warmly, murmured in an agitated, trembling voice: "Forgive this raving....