The princess, looking over his shoulder, was far less interested in the painter than in his work.
Indeed, the artist himself was so absorbed in his task that, to save time, he held one of his brushes crosswise between his teeth while he worked with the other.

Yet the instinct of politeness impelled him, as soon as he heard the rustle of a lady's skirt behind him, to remove his broad-brimmed hat and place it on the floor at his side.
"Manasseh!" Startled surprise and gladness spoke in that word, which slipped out ere the speaker's discretion could prevent it.

The young man turned quickly.
"Princess!" he exclaimed, "where did you drop from ?" "I was not looking for you," she stammered, thus betraying that she had been seeking him and was rejoiced, heart and soul, at the chance that had led her to him.
Manasseh smiled.

"No, not for me, but for the painter wrestling with the Colosseum from this lofty roost.

I saw you yesterday attempting the same task from below." "And you recognised me--so far off ?" "I have very good eyes.