But the artist, who could not get along without giving vent to his effusions, seized me by the hand and said with his usual enthusiasm: "Just think of it, old man, what a horror! Every day a new repulsive face appears before me.

They sit and stare at me with their froglike eyes.

What am I to do?
At first I laughed--I even liked it--but when the froglike eyes stared at me every day I was seized with horror.

I was afraid they might start to quack--qua-qua!" Indeed there was a certain fear, even madness, in the eyes of the artist--the madness which shortly led him to his untimely grave.
"Old man, it is necessary to have something beautiful.

Do you understand me ?" "And the wife of the Warden?
Is she not--" I shall pass in silence the unbecoming expressions with which he spoke of the lady in his excitement.