At first the painter of the
Egyptian Mary uttered a few exclamations: "Ah, she unclothes herself!"
--"He tells her to stand in the light!"--"He compares them!" but he
grew silent as he watched the mournful face of the young man; for
though old painters have none of such petty scruples in presence of
their art, yet they admire them in others, when they are fresh and
pleasing. The young man held his hand on his sword, and his ear seemed
glued to the panel of the door. Both men, standing darkly in the
shadow, looked like conspirators waiting the hour to strike a tyrant.
"Come in! come in!" cried the old man, beaming with happiness. "My
work is perfect; I can show it now with pride. Never shall painter,
brushes, colors, canvas, light, produce the rival of Catherine
Lescaut, the Beautiful Nut-girl."
Porbus and Poussin, seized with wild curiosity, rushed into the middle
of a vast atelier filled with dust, where everything lay in disorder,
and where they saw a few paintings hanging here and there upon the
walls. They stopped before the figure of a woman, life-sized and half
nude, which filled them with eager admiration.
"Do not look at that," said Frenhofer, "it is only a daub which I made
to study a pose; it is worth nothing. Those are my errors," he added,
waving his hand towards the enchanting compositions on the walls
around them.
At these words Porbus and Poussin, amazed at the disdain which the
master showed for such marvels of art, looked about them for the
secret treasure, but could see it nowhere.
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