He had entered the town, where the arcaded streets exuded their peculiar
pungent smell of cows and leather, wood-smoke, wine-casks, and drains.
The sound of rapid wheels over the stones made him turn his head. A
carriage drawn by red-roan horses was passing at a great pace. People
stared at it, standing still, and looking alarmed. It swung from side
to side and vanished round a corner. Harz saw Mr. Nicholas Treffry in
a long, whitish dust-coat; his Italian servant, perched behind, was
holding to the seat-rail, with a nervous grin on his dark face.

'Certainly,' Harz thought, 'there's no getting away from these people
this morning--they are everywhere.'

In his studio he began to sort his sketches, wash his brushes, and drag
out things he had accumulated during his two months' stay. He even began
to fold his blanket door. But suddenly he stopped. Those two girls!
Why not try? What a picture! The two heads, the sky, and leaves! Begin
to-morrow! Against that window--no, better at the Villa! Call the
picture--Spring...!




IV

The wind, stirring among trees and bushes, flung the young leaves
skywards. The trembling of their silver linings was like the joyful
flutter of a heart at good news. It was one of those Spring mornings
when everything seems full of a sweet restlessness--soft clouds chasing
fast across the sky; soft scents floating forth and dying; the notes of
birds, now shrill and sweet, now hushed in silences; all nature striving