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painter of the world？ oh； nature； nature！ who has surprised thee； fugitive？ but； after all； too much knowledge； like ignorance； brings you to a negation。 i have doubts about my work。〃
there was a pause。 then the old man spoke again。 〃i have been at work upon it for ten years； young man； but what are ten short years in a struggle with nature？ do we know how long sir pygmalion wrought at the one statue that came to life？〃 the old man fell into deep musings； and gazed before him with unseeing eyes； while he played unheedingly with his knife。
〃look； he is in conversation with his _domon！_〃 murmured porbus。
at the word； nicolas poussin felt himself carried away by an unaccountable accession of artists curiosity。 for him the old man； at once intent and inert； the seer with the unseeing eyes； became something more than a mana fantastic spirit living in a mysterious world； and countless vague thoughts awoke within his soul。 the effect of this species of fascination upon his mind can no more be described in words than the passionate longing awakened in an exiles heart by the song that recalls his home。 he thought of the scorn that the old man affected to display for the noblest efforts of art； of his wealth； his manners； of the deference paid to him by porbus。 the mysterious picture； the work of patience on which he had wrought so long in secret； was doubtless a work of genius； for the head of the virgin which young poussin had admired so frankly was beautiful even beside mabuses 〃adam〃there was no mistaking the imperial manner of one of the princes of art。 everything bined to set the old man beyond the limits of human nature。
out of the wealth of fancies in nicolas poussins brain an idea grew； and gathered shape and clearness。 he saw in this supernatural being a plete type of the artist nature； a nature mocking and kindly； barren and prolific； an erratic spirit intrusted with great and manifold powers which she too often abuses； leading sober reason； the philistine； and sometimes even the amateur forth into a stony wilderness where they see nothing； but the white…winged maiden herself； wild as her fancies may be； finds epics there and castles and works of art。 for poussin； the enthusiast； the old man； was suddenly transfigured； and became art incarnate； art with its mysteries； its vehement passion and its dreams。
〃yes； my dear porbus；〃 frenhofer continued； 〃hitherto i have never found a flawless model； a body with outlines of perfect beauty； the carnationsah！ where does she live？〃 he cried； breaking in upon himself； 〃the undiscoverable venus of the older time； for whom we have sought so often； only to find the scattered gleams of her beauty here and there？ oh！ to behold once and for one moment； nature grown perfect and divine； the ideal at last； i would give all that i possess。。。。 nay； beauty divine； i would go to seek thee in the dim land of the dead； like orpheus； i would go down into the hades of art to bring back the life of art from among the shadows of death。〃
〃we can go now；〃 said porbus to poussin。 〃he neither hears nor sees us any longer。〃
〃let us go to his studio；〃 said young poussin； wondering greatly。
〃oh！ the old fox takes care that no one shall enter it。 his treasures are so carefully guarded that it is impossible for us to e at them。 i have not waited for your suggestion and your fancy to attempt to lay hands on this mystery by force。〃
〃so there is a mystery？〃 〃yes；〃 answered porbus。 〃old frenhofer is the only pupil mabuse would take。 frenhofer became the painters friend； deliverer； and father； he sacrificed the greater part of his fortune to enable mabuse to indulge in riotous extravagance； and in return mabuse bequeathed to him the secret of relief； the power of giving to his figures the wonderful life； the flower of nature； the eternal despair of art； the secret which ma…buse knew so well that one day when he had sold the flowered brocade suit in which he should have appeared at the entry of charles v； he acpanied his master in a suit of paper painted to resemble the brocade。 the peculiar richness and splendor of the stuff struck the emperor； he plimented the old drunkards patron on the artists appearance； and so the trick was brought to light。 frenhofer is a passionate enthusiast； who sees above and beyond other painters。 he has meditated profoundly on color； and the absolute truth of line； but by the way of much research he has e to doubt the very existence of the objects of his search。 he says； in moments of despondency； that there is no such thing as drawing； and that by means of lines we can only reproduce geometrical figures； but that is overshooting the mark； for by outline and shadow you can reproduce form without any color at all； which shows that our art； like nature； is posed of an infinite number of elements。 drawing gives you the skeleton； the anatomical frame… work； and color puts the life into it； but life without the skeleton is even more inplete than a skeleton without life。 but there is something else truer still； and it is thisf or painters； practise and observation are everything； and when theories and poetical ideas begin to quarrel with the brushes； the end is doubt； as has happened with our good friend； who is half crack…brained enthusiast； half painter。 a sublime painter！ but unlucky for him； he was born to riches； and so he has leisure to follow his fancies。 do not you follow his example！ work！ painters have no business to think； except brush in hand。〃
〃we will find a way into his studio！〃 cried poussin confidently。 he had ceased to heed porbuss remarks。 the other smiled at the young painters enthusiasm； asked him to e to see him again； and they parted。 nicolas poussin went slowly back to the rue de la harpe； and passed the modest hostelry where he was lodging without noticing it。 a feeling of uneasiness prompted him to hurry up the crazy staircase till he reached a room at the top； a quaint； airy recess under the steep； high…pitched roof mon among houses in old paris。 in the one dingy window of the place sat a young girl； who sprang up at once when she heard some one at the door； it was the prompting of love； she had recognized the painters touch on the latch。
〃what is the matter with you？〃 she asked。
〃the matter is。。。 is。。。 oh！ i have felt that i am a painter！ until to…day i have had doubts； but now i believe in myself！ there is the making of a great man in me！ never mind； gillette； we shall be rich and happy！ there is gold at the tips of those brushes〃
he broke off suddenly。 the joy faded from his powerful and earnest face as he pared his vast hopes with his slender resources。 the walls were covered with sketches in chalk on sheets of mon paper。 there were but four canvases in the room。 colors were very costly； and the young painters palette was almost bare。 yet in the midst of his poverty he possessed and was conscious of the possession of inexhaustible treasures of the heart； of a devouring genius equal to all the tasks that lay before him。
he had been brought to paris by a nobleman among his friends； or perchance by the consciousness of his powers； and in paris he had found a mistress； one of those noble and generous souls who choose to suffer by a great mans side； who share his struggles and strive to understand his fancies； accepting their lot of poverty and love as bravely and dauntlessly as other women will set themselves to bear the burden of riches and make a parade of their insensibility。 the smile that stole over gillettes lips filled the garret with golden light； and rivaled the brightness of the sun in heaven。 the sun； moreover； does not always shine in heaven； whereas gillette was always in the garret； absorbed in her passion； occupied by poussins happiness and sorrow； consoling the genius which found an outlet in love before art engrossed it。
〃listen； gillette。 e here。〃
the girl obeyed joyously； and sprang upon the painters knee。 hers was perfect grace and beauty； and the loveliness of spring； she was adorned with all luxuriant fairness of outward form； lighted up by the glow of a fair soul within。
〃oh！ god；〃 he cried； 〃i shall never dare to tell her〃
〃a secret？〃 she cried； 〃i must know it！〃
poussin was absorbed in his dreams。
〃do tell it me！〃
〃gillette。。。 poor beloved heart！。。。〃
〃oh！ do you want something of me？〃
〃yes。〃
〃if you wish me to sit once more for you as i did the other day；〃 she continued with playful petulance； 〃i will never consent to do such a thing again； for your eyes say nothing all the while。 you do not think of me at all； and yet you look at me〃
〃would you rather have me draw another woman？〃
〃perhapsif she were very ugly；〃 she said。
〃well；〃 said poussin gravely； 〃and if； for the sake of my fame to e； if to make me a great painter； you must sit to some one else？〃
〃you may try me；〃 she said； 〃you know quite well that i would not。〃
poussins head sank on her breast； he seemed to be overpowered by some intolerable joy or sorrow。
〃listen；〃 she cried； plucking at the sleeve of poussins threadbare doublet； 〃i told you； nick； that i would lay down my life for you； but i never promised you that i in my lifetime would lay down my love。〃
〃your love？〃 cried the young artist。
〃if i show