Blushing, as if other eyes than the painted ones were gazing down upon her, she drew it over the white stocking, then with a rapid movement mounted the seat.

She could now look directly into the eyes of the portrait.

The cloth in Maria's trembling hand passed over Eva's brow, and wiped the shadow from the rosy flesh.

She now blew the dust from the frame and canvas, and perceived the signature of the artist to whom the picture owed its origin.

"Artjen of Leyden," he called himself, and his careful hand had finished even the unimportant parts of the work with minute accuracy.
She well knew the silver chain with the blue turquoises, that rested on the plump neck.