in time to save you trouble and expense of a journey.quot;

    quot;?quot; asked Fren.

    quot;Young Poussin is loved by a y. But, dear master, if s to lend o you, at t you ougo let us see your ;

    tood motionless and completely dazed.

    quot;!quot; eously at last, quot;sion, my bride? Rend t  my  ion. For ten years I  smiled at me, at eacroke of t I  mine s on o ex o bring to dis a picture for t, you do not put your ; to courtiers you sell lay figures duly colored. My painting is no painting, it is a sentiment, a passion. Sudio, t dude, and only  veil aside for tos Angelica, Dantes Beatrice? Nay, only t ture, locked audio, is an exception in our art. It is not a canvas, it is a alk. I ss, ears, er. ould you en years of  once to be fator? S a creature, but a creation.

    quot;Bring your young painter reasures; I ian; I s in t; but make , and ter. Yes, est sigrengto burn my Belle Noiseuse; but--compel o endure tranger, a young man and a painter!--A if you did not kneel in reverence before  my idol to ticisms of fools? Aery; it can only live . You say, even to your friend, Be;

    to  and life in  fluse ve  o reply to tterance of an emotion as strange as it o some freak of tists fancy? or range ligravail of a . ould it be possible to come to terms his singular passion?

    s, Porbus spoke--quot;Is it not ; ;Does not Poussin submit ress to your gaze?quot;

    quot; is s; retorted t;A mistress o me forever.quot;

    quot;ell, ; said Porbus, quot;l