He did not look at her as he spoke, but kept on diligently smoothing and kneading the soft clay.
She made as though she had not heard his question, and turned on her heel, wrapping her thick hair about her like a cloak, and went over to a corner of the studio, where a great black Newfoundland dog, with a white breast, was lying on a straw mat with his head between his fore paws, and growling lightly in his sleep. The girl bent down to him and began to scratch his head softly--of which he took no other notice than an instant's opening of his eyes, dim with old age.
"He isn't very gallant," said the girl, laughing. "One of my girl friends has a little terrier, and when I stroke him he is perfectly wild with joy, and I have to look out that he doesn't lick my face and neck and hands all over with his little pink tongue. But this fellow is as reverend as a grandfather. What is his name?"
"Homo."
"Homo? What a queer name! What does it mean?"
"It is Latin, and means 'man.' Years ago the old boy showed so much human reason, just as his master seemed on the point of losing his head, that it was decided to rechristen him. Since then he has never brought shame upon his name. So you see, child, in what good company you are. If I am hardly as old as a grandfather yet, I am almost old enough to be your father. And I thought these two sittings would have convinced you that you were perfectly safe with me--that I shall faithfully keep what I promised you. And that is the reason--"
"No, no, no, no!" cried she, jumping suddenly up and whirling around, and shaking her head so violently that her hair flew about her like a wheel of fire. "What makes you speak of that again, Herr Jansen? You take me for a silly, thoughtless kind of girl, no doubt--and think that in time I shan't be able to refuse you anything. But you are very much mistaken. It is true, I don't mind doing some foolish things; and standing about for you here like this doesn't seem to me anything wrong or disgraceful. Why, at a ball last winter where we had made up the flowers, and so they let us look in through the dressing-room, the fine ladies appeared before gentlemen in a very different way from the way I am standing and walking about here; and there were a great many officers there--not even artists, like you, that only look artistically at a bare neck and shoulders. But, if I will do that for you, you mustn't ask anything more. It is true, my friend, when I told her, did not think anything of it--and she could come with me. But that is decided--it would make me so that I never could look anybody straight in the face again. No--no--no! I will not do it--now or ever!"
"You are right, child," interrupted the sculptor, breaking in on her excited words and, suddenly changing the form of his speech into the more familiar "thou." "Nobody need know of it, and, if it is disagreeable to you, I will not speak of it again. And yet--it's a pity! I could make the figure from a single mould, so to speak; and in half the time that I shall have to spend now in looking about for something that will suit."
She made no answer, but of her own accord mounted upon the bench, and leaned back again, hanging from the rod.
"Is that right?" she asked. "Am I standing just as I did before?"
He only nodded, without looking up at her.
"What makes you cross with me?" she asked, after a while. "I cannot help it because I am not like my friend. To be sure, she has had a great deal more experience than I. And then she has been in love more than once."
"Have you never had a sweetheart, Zenz?"
"No; a real sweetheart, such as one would go through the fire for--never! My red hair didn't have very good fortune out in Salzburg, where I have generally lived. And, besides, I was too ugly. One of them said I had a dog's face. It has only been within the last year, when I have suddenly shot up a little, and grown a little stouter, that the gentlemen have sometimes run after me; and with one of them--a right nice young fellow--I had a kind of a flirtation. But he was so silly that he tired me; and so it hadn't gone far between us when one fine day he fell sick and died. And it was only then that I found I couldn't have loved him so very, very much; for I didn't even cry about him. Since then I have taken good care not to make a fool of myself again. Men are bad; everybody says that that knows anything. As for me, if I liked one--if I really liked him, 'von Herzen, mit Schmerzen'--"
"Well, Zenz, what would you do?"
She was silent for a moment, and then suddenly let her arms fall close by her sides. It seemed as though a chill ran over her soft skin; she shook herself, and shrugged her white shoulders.
"What would I do?" she repeated, as though to herself. "Everything he wanted! And so it is better as it is--much better."
"You are a good girl, Zenz," he muttered, nodding his head slowly. "Come, there is my hand; shake hands, and I promise you now that there never shall be a word again between us of what you are not willing to hear."
CHAPTER II.
She was just about to lay her round, white little hand in his, which was rough and muddy from kneading the clay, when a knock at the door caused them both to look up and listen.
The janitor called out through the key-hole that a strange gentleman wished to speak with Herr Jansen. When he heard that the sculptor had a model sitting to him at the moment, he had asked the janitor to take in his card. With this the janitor pushed the card through a narrow hole in the door made for the purpose.
The sculptor, grumbling, went toward the threshold and picked up the card. "Felix, Freiherr von Weiblingen." He shook his head thoughtfully. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of joy. Under the printed name was written, with a pencil, "Icarus."
"A good friend of yours?" queried the girl.
He made no answer, but threw down his modeling-tool hastily, hurriedly wiped his hands on a towel, and hastened to the door again. As he opened it, he turned around.
"Stay here, Zenz," he said. "Amuse yourself for a while; there is a book of pictures; and, if you should be hungry, you will find something in the cupboard. I will lock the door behind me."
In the hall outside there was no one but the janitor, with his bent, long-shaped head, that looked very much like the head of a horse, especially when he spoke; then he moved his under-jaw, as though he had a bit between his great, yellow teeth.
He was a most serviceable old fellow, who had grown gray in the service of art, and had a more delicate judgment than many a professor. He was a thorough expert in preparing a canvas; and occupied his leisure in studying the chemistry of colors.
"Where are the gentlemen, Fridolin?" asked the sculptor.
"There is only one. He is walking in the yard. A very handsome young gentleman. You can see in his face the look of the 'Baron' that is on his card. He said--"
But the sculptor had hurried by him, and had rushed down the steps that led into the yard. "Felix!" he cried, "is it you or your ghost?"
"I am inclined to think it is both, and a heart in addition," replied the person addressed, grasping the hand that the sculptor held out to him. "Come, old fellow, I can't see why we should be ashamed to fall on each other's necks, here under God's free heaven. I have had to get on for years without my best and dearest old Dædalus--"
He did not finish his sentence. The sculptor had pressed him so heartily to his breast that it fairly took away his breath.
Then suddenly he loosened his grasp, and, stepping back a pace, cast a critical glance over the slight figure of his friend.
"Still just the same," he said, as though to himself; "but we must get those Samson-like locks under the shears. You don't know your strongest point, my dear boy, when you bury your round head in such a thicket. And your full beard must come off. However, all that will come with time. Tell me what has conjured you forth out of your primeval forests into our tame art-city?"
He