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le thing； was it not？ even against my own will； i am glad and even proud to do thy dear will。 but for another； out upon it！〃
〃forgive me； my gillette；〃 said the painter； falling upon his knees； 〃i would rather be beloved than famous。 you are fairer than success and honors。 there； fling the pencils away； and burn these sketches！ i have made a mistake。 i was meant to love and not to paint。 perish art and all its secrets！〃
gillette looked admiringly at him； in an ecstasy of happiness！ she was triumphant； she felt instinctively that art was laid aside for her sake； and flung like a grain of incense at her feet。
〃yet he is only an old man；〃 poussin continued； 〃for him you would be a woman； and nothing more。 you……so perfect！〃
〃i must love you indeed！〃 she cried； ready to sacrifice even loves scruples to the lover who had given up so much for her sake； 〃but i should bring about my own ruin。 ah！ to ruin myself； to lose everything for you！。。。 it is a very glorious thought！ ah！ but you will forget me。 oh i what evil thought is this that has e to you？〃
〃i love you； and yet i thought of it；〃 he said； with something like remorse； 〃am i so base a wretch？〃
〃let us consult père hardouin；〃 she said。
〃no； no！ let it be a secret between us。〃
〃very well； i will do it。 but you must not be there；〃 she said。 〃stay at the door with your dagger in your hand； and if i call； rush in and kill the painter。〃
poussin forgot everything but art。 he held gillette tightly in his arms。
〃he loves me no longer！〃 thought gillette when she was alone。 she repented of her resolution already。
but to these misgivings there soon succeeded a sharper pain； and she strove to banish a hideous thought that arose in her own heart。 it seemed to her that her own love had grown less already； with a vague suspicion that the painter had fallen somewhat in her eyes。
ii……catherine lescault
three months after poussin and porbus met； the latter went to see master frenhofer。 the old man had fallen a victim to one of those profound and spontaneous fits of discouragement that are caused； according to medical logicians； by indigestion； flatulence； fever； or enlargement of the spleen； or； if you take the opinion of the spiritualists； by the imperfections of our mortal nature。 the good man had simply overworked himself in putting the finishing touches to his mysterious picture。 he was lounging in a huge carved oak chair； covered with black leather； and did not change his listless attitude； but glanced at porbus like a man who has settled down into low spirits。
〃well； master；〃 said porbus； 〃was the ultramarine bad that you sent for to bruges？ is the new white difficult to grind？ is the oil poor； or are the brushes recalcitrant？〃
〃alas！〃 cried the old man； 〃for a moment i thought that my work was finished； but i am sure that i am mistaken in certain details； and i can not rest until i have cleared my doubts。 i am thinking of traveling。 i am going to turkey； to greece； to asia； in quest of a model； so as to pare my picture with the different living forms of nature。 perhaps；〃 and a smile of contentment stole over his face； 〃perhaps i have nature herself up there。 at times i am half afraid that a breath may waken her； and that she will escape me。〃
he rose to his feet as if to set out at once。
〃aha！〃 said porbus； 〃i have e just in time to save you the trouble and expense of a journey。〃
〃what？〃 asked frenhofer in amazement。
〃young poussin is loved by a woman of inparable and flawless beauty。 but； dear master； if he consents to lend her to you； at the least you ought to let us see your work。〃
the old man stood motionless and pletely dazed。
〃what！〃 he cried piteously at last； 〃show you my creation； my bride？ rend the veil that has kept my happiness sacred？ it would be an infamous profanation。 for ten years i have lived with her； she is mine； mine alone； she loves me。 has she not smiled at me； at each stroke of the brush upon the canvas？ she has a soul……the soul that i have given her。 she would blush if any eyes but mine should rest on her。 to exhibit her！ where is the husband； the lover so vile as to bring the woman he loves to dishonor？ when you paint a picture for the court； you do not put your whole soul into it； to courtiers you sell lay figures duly colored。 my painting is no painting； it is a sentiment； a passion。 she was born in my studio； there she must dwell in maiden solitude； and only when clad can she issue thence。 poetry and women only lay the last veil aside for their lovers have we rafaels model； ariostos angelica； dantes beatrice？ nay； only their form and semblance。 but this picture； locked away above in my studio； is an exception in our art。 it is not a canvas； it is a woman……a woman with whom i talk。 i share her thoughts； her tears； her laughter。 would you have me fling aside these ten years of happiness like a cloak？ would you have me cease at once to be father； lover； and creator？ she is not a creature； but a creation。
〃bring your young painter here。 i will give him my treasures； i will give him pictures by correggio and michelangelo and titian； i will kiss his footprints in the dust； but make him my rival！ shame on me。 ah！ ah！ i am a lover first； and then a painter。 yes； with my latest sigh i could find strength to burn my belle noiseuse； but……pel her to endure the gaze of a stranger； a young man and a painter！……ah！ no； no！ i would kill him on the morrow who should sully her with a glance！ nay； you； my friend； i would kill you with my own hands in a moment if you did not kneel in reverence before her！ now； will you have me submit my idol to the careless eyes and senseless criticisms of fools？ ah！ love is a mystery； it can only live hidden in the depths of the heart。 you say； even to your friend； behold her whom i love； and there is an end of love。〃
the old man seemed to have grown young again； there was light and life in his eyes； and a faint flush of red in his pale face。 his hands shook。 porbus was so amazed by the passionate vehemence of frenhofers words that he knew not what to reply to this utterance of an emotion as strange as it was profound。 was frenhofer sane or mad？ had he fallen a victim to some freak of the artists fancy？ or were these ideas of his produced by the strange lightheadedness which es over us during the long travail of a work of art。 would it be possible to e to terms with this singular passion？
harassed by all these doubts； porbus spoke……〃is it not woman for woman？〃 he said。 〃does not poussin submit his mistress to your gaze？〃
〃what is she？〃 retorted the other。 〃a mistress who will be false to him sooner or later。 mine will be faithful to me forever。〃
〃well； well；〃 said porbus； 〃let us say no more about it。 but you may die before you will find such a flawless beauty as hers； even in asia； and then your picture will be left unfinished。
〃oh！ it is finished；〃 said frenhof er。 〃standing before it you would think that it was a living woman lying on the velvet couch beneath the shadow of the curtains。 perfumes are burning on a golden tripod by her side。 you would be tempted to lay your hand upon the tassel of the cord that holds back the curtains； it would seem to you that you saw her