"You know it would be impossible to leave the portrait as it is now.

The mouth, you know--you promised to do something to it--just the expression, you know." Gouache bowed his head a little, and set to work again without a word.
Del Ferice did not speak again during the sitting, but sat moodily staring at the canvas, at Donna Tullia, and at the floor.

It was not often that he was moved from his habitual suavity of manner, but Gouache's conduct had made him feel particularly uncomfortable.
The next time Donna Tullia came to sit, she brought her old Countess, and Del Ferice did not appear.

The portrait was ultimately finished to the satisfaction of all parties, and was hung in Donna Tullia's drawing-room, to be admired and criticised by all her friends.

But Gouache rejoiced when the thing was finally removed from his studio, for he had grown to hate it, and had been almost willing to flatter it out of all likeness to Madame Mayer, for the sake of not being eternally confronted by the cold stare of her blue eyes.