Antonio, however, was so unconcious of the "world without," that he
started not at this sudden interruption of the previous stillness.
Regardless, too, of the serious and indeed reproving tone of the old man's
voice, he hastily replied without averting his gaze from the canvass.
"Hush, maestro! I beseech you. Question me not, for Heaven's sake! I
cannot spare a word in reply. The original," continued he, after a brief
interval of close attention to his object, and drawing as he spoke; "the
original is still firmly fixed in my memory. I see its sharp outlines
clear within me, and, as you well know and oft have told me, a feature
lost is lost for ever. Alas! alas! those lines and angles around the mouth
are already fading into shadow."

After he had thrown out these words, from time to time, like interjections,
and with Venetian rapidity of utterance, nothing was audible in the saloon
for some minutes but the young artist's sharp and rapid strokes upon the
canvass.

"No more of this, Antonio!" at length exclaimed the old painter with
energy, after gazing for some time at the gradual appearance of an old
woman's lean and winkled features, dried up and yellow as if one of the
dead, and yet lighted up by a pair of dark deep-set eyes, which seemed to
blaze with supernatural life and lustre. At each touch of the artist, this
mummy-like and unearthly visage was brought out into sharper and more
disgusting relief, when Contarini, no longer able to control his
indignation, dashed the charcoal from his pupil's hand. "Apage, Satanas!"
he shouted, "thy talent hath a devil in it. I see his very hoof-print in
that horrible design."

Startled by this unexpected violence, the young artist turned round, and
beheld with amazement the usually benign featutes of his venerable teacher