His eyes were dark and singularly expressive, his forehead low and very broad; his hands were sufficiently nervous and well knit, but white as a woman's, and the fingers tapered delicately to the tips.

He wore a brown velvet coat more or less daubed with paint, and his collar was low at the throat.
He sprang from his high stool as Donna Tullia and Del Ferice entered, his palette and mahl-stick in his hand, and made a most ceremonious bow; whereat Donna Tullia laughed gaily.
"Well, Gouache," she said familiarly, "what have you been doing ?" Anastase motioned to her to come before his canvas and contemplate the portrait of herself upon which he was working.

It was undeniably good--a striking figure in full-length, life-size, and breathing with Donna Tullia's vitality, if also with something of her coarseness.
"Ah, my friend," remarked Del Ferice, "you will never be successful until you take my advice." "I think it is very like," said Donna Tullia, thoughtfully.
"You are too modest," answered Del Ferice.

"There is the foundation of likeness, but it lacks yet the soul." "Oh, but that will come," returned Madame Mayer.

Then turning to the artist, she added in a more doubtful voice, "Perhaps, as Del Ferice says, you might give it a little more expression--what shall I say ?--more poetry." Anastase Gouache smiled a fine smile.