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Seven only of those scattering over the field wore white; two young gentlemen, one at second base and the other behind the batter, wore gray uniforms with crimson stockings, and crimson piping on the caps, and a crimson H embroidered on the breast a sight that made the painter's heart beat a little faster, the honored livery of his own college.
The head of the hero was tragic and fine, and you could see a likeness in it to the painter's own countenance. Gamelin cast many a mournful look at this composition; sometimes his fingers itched with the craving to be at work on it, and his arms would be stretched longingly towards the boldly sketched figure of Electra, to fall back again helpless to his sides.
For he was pleased to be sure that his judgment had not been warped in the matter by the irresistible prejudice in favour of a beautiful girl. And had he seen Paolina first, he could have had no such assurance. In truth, the poor Venetian painter's orphan child was very beautiful.
This paint is scarcely two and a half cents per pound. The Spanish brown must be in powder. This is made by the addition of blue black in powder, or lamp-black to receipt No. 261, till the colour is to the painter's mind; and a lighter brown may be formed by adding ground white lead. By ground lead is meant white lead ground in oil.
"What's the matter?" was Sir Seymour's unconventional greeting to him. For the painter's face was flushed in patches and his small eyes glowed fiercely. "Who's this?" he said, looking at Sir Seymour's companion. "Detective Inspector Horridge Mr. Dick Garstin," said Sir Seymour. "Oh, come to see the picture! Well, you're too late!" said Garstin in a harsh voice. "Too late!"
But the worst of it is, he is making a hypocrite of me, and a cowardly, unnatural girl. I wanted to go nearer and look at the painter's sketch; but I was ashamed to say I'd never seen a real artist's sketch before, and I'm getting to be ashamed, or to seem ashamed, of a great many innocent things. He has a way of not seeming to think it possible that any one he associates with can differ from him.
So France appeared to that prophet painter's eye, in the subsiding tempests of the revolution. So men's hearts failed them for fear, and the dead lay stark and stiff among the living, amid the sea and the waves roaring; and so mute signals of distress were hung out in the lurid sky to nations afar. For my part, I remain a heretic.
The Emperor pointed to that of Mabuse, as excelling in whiteness and beauty of the flowers; and when he was told of the painter's stratagem, he would not believe it, till he had examined it with his own hands. Lanzi relates the following amusing anecdote of Giovanni da Capugnano, an artist of little merit, but whose assurance enabled him to attract considerable attention in his day.
The most prominent figures were the King, seated in a chair, and seven wives standing in a row before him, most of them with pipes in their mouths. Black, red, and white, were apparently the only colors that the painter's palette supplied. The groundwork was the natural color of the clay, which had been plastered upon the wall of wicker-work.
But as soon as they entered such places, the diamond in his sceptre began to shine and glow and flash, sending out streams of light of all the colours that painter's soul could dream of; in which light the Shadows grew livelier and stronger than ever, speeding through the dark ways with an all but blinding swiftness.