FullReads

A heavy frown had come between the handsome eyes watching him. “You’ll not paint her like that?”

“I rather think I shall,” responded Titian slowly. “She has promised.”

“And Giorgione?”

“Giorgione lets her do as she likes. He trusts her–as I do.” He laid his hand again on the shoulder near him. “I tell you, man, you’re wrong. Believe in her and–leave her,” he said significantly.

The shoulder shrugged itself slightly away. The young man picked up his hat from the table near by. He raised it courteously before he dropped it with a little laugh on the dark curls.

“I go to an appointment,” he said.

III

A face looked over the balcony railing as the gondola halted at the foot of the steps. It smiled with a look of satisfaction, and the owner, reaching for a rose at her belt, dropped it with a quick touch over the balcony edge.

It fell at the feet of the young man stepping from the gondola, and caused him to bend with a deep flush. It touched his lips lightly as he raised himself and lifted his velvet cap to the face above.

She smiled mockingly. “You are late,” she said–“two minutes late!”

“I come!” he replied, springing up the steps. In another minute he was beside her, smiling and flushed, looking down at her with deep, intent gaze.

She made a place for him on the divan. “Sit down,” she said.

He seated himself humbly, his eyes studying hers.

She smiled lazily and unfurled her fan, covering her face except the eyes. They regarded him over the fringe of feathers.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

“With Titian.”

“Giorgione wanted you. He did scold so–!” She laughed musically.

Zarato nodded. “I go to him to-morrow.”

“Has Titian finished?”

“For the present–He will lay it away.”

“I know,” she laughed, “–to mellow!… How did you like it?”

He hesitated a second. “It was a little rough,” he confessed.

“Always!” The laugh rippled sweetly. “Like a log of wood–or a heap of stones–or a large loaf of bread.”

He stirred uneasily. “Do you sit to him often?” he asked.

Her eyes dwelt for a moment on his face. “Not now,” she replied.

He returned the look searchingly. “You are going to?”

“Yes,” she assented.

He still held her eyes. “I don’t like it,” he said slowly.

The ghost of a smile came into her face. Her eyes danced in the shadow of it. “No?” she said quietly.

“No!”

She waited, looking down and plucking at the silken fringe of her bodice. “Why?” she asked after a time.

He made no reply.

She glanced up at him. He was looking away from her, across the gay canal. His face had a gentle, preoccupied look, and his lip trembled.

Her glance fell. “Why not?” she repeated softly.

He looked down at her and his face flushed. “I don’t know,” he said. He bent toward her and took the fan from her fingers.

She yielded it with half reluctance, her eyes mocking him and her lips alluring.

He smiled back at her, shaking his head slightly and unfurling the fan. He had regained his self-possession. He moved the fan gently, stirring the red-gold hair and fluttering the silken fringe on her bodice. It rose and fell swiftly, moved in the soft current of air. His eyes studied her face. “Will you sit for me some day?” he said.

She nodded without speaking. The breath came swiftly between the red lips and the eyes were turned away. They rested on the facade of a tall building opposite, where a flock of doves, billing and cooing in the warm air, strutted and preened themselves. Their plump and iridescent breasts shone in the sun.

Her hand reached for the cithara at her side. “Shall I sing you their song?” she said, “The Birds of Venus.”

He smiled indulgently. Her voice crooned the words.

“Sing!” she said imperiously. He joined in, following her mood with ready ease.

There was silence between them when the song was done. She sat with her eyes half closed, looking down at the white hands in her lap.