"Do not speak of it!"
"Why?"
"I must not hear your name."
"But you know it already. You spoke of my painting."
"I have never seen your face; I have never heard your name; you were brought to me in this room darkened as you find it now."
"Yet you knew—"
Her voice was marvelously low: "I touched your face, sir, and in some way I knew."
After a time he said: "I believe you. This miracle is no greater than the others. But why do you not wish to know my name?"
"I may live after you, and when I see your pictures I do not wish to say: 'This is his work; this is his power; this is his limitation.' Can you understand?"
"I will try to."