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Cotoner went for the insignia, a great cross the Spanish government had given him for his picture, and the artist, with the ribbon across his shirt-front and a brilliant circle on his coat, started out with his wife to spend the evening among diplomats, distinguished travelers and cardinals' nephews.
The husbands, glad to entertain an artist so cheaply, consulted him about the plan for a new chapel or the designs for an altar, and on their saint's day they would receive with a condescending mien some present from Cotoner a "little daub," a landscape painted on a piece of wood, that often needed an explanation before they could understand what it was meant for.
Flowers; they must get some flowers, fill all the old vases in the studio, create an atmosphere of delicate perfume. And Cotoner ran through the garden with the servant, plundered the greenhouse and came in with an armful of flowers, obedient and submissive as a faithful friend, but with a sarcastic reproach in his eyes.
But before he went out he stopped to say another word in praise of the portrait of the countess. The two friends remained alone for a long while in silence. Renovales, buried in the shadow of that niche of Persian stuffs with which his divan was canopied, gazed at the picture. "Is she going to come to-day?" asked Cotoner, pointing to the canvas. Renovales shrugged his shoulders.
If Señor Cotoner came, he was to tell him that the master had gone out. If letters came from the countess, he could leave them in an old terra-cotta jar in the anteroom, where the neglected calling cards were piling up. If it was she who came, he was to close the door. He did not want anything to distract him. Dinner should be served in the studio.
I want to work and haven't the strength." Suddenly he interrupted his old friend, pointing to all the portraits of Josephina, as if they were new works which he had just produced. Cotoner expressed surprise. He knew them all; they had been there for years. What was strange about them? The master told him of his recent surprise.
This was all that the human mind came to and here it must stop in all its pride! "Here it is!" said Cotoner. They had entered between two rows of tombs so close together that as they passed they brushed against the old ornaments which crumbled and fell at the touch.
Those women who live amid obligations and demands, without a minute to themselves! Suddenly he heard steps and Cotoner entered. "She is here; here she comes. Good luck, master. Have a good time! I guess you have imposed on me long enough and will not expect me to stay."
And good Cotoner complained bitterly of the life the master was leading disturbed by sudden impatience and hasty departures, from which he returned absent-minded, with a faint smile on his lips and a vague look in his eyes, as if he still relished the feast of memories he carried in his mind.
The master lowered his head. "If you only knew, Pepe! If you could see the life I lead every day!" "I know what it is," Cotoner hastened to say, "or rather, I can imagine. Don't tell me anything."
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