“You mean, perhaps, in figure?” asked Zedwitz.
“In feature, too,” persisted Hamilton.
“Why, they have both brown hair, blue eyes, and red lips, if that constitutes likeness; but while one has the mere beauty of extreme youth, the other is the most perfect model of female loveliness I ever beheld.”
“You are very far gone,” observed Hamilton, gravely.
“I am giving my opinion as an artist,” he replied, smiling. “You will understand my enthusiasm when I tell you that I spend all my leisure hours studying portrait-painting.”
“You came here just now, probably, to take a sketch of this most perfect model! But tell me, honestly, did she promise to meet you here?”
“How can you ask such downright questions? There are different kinds of beauty, and different kinds of dispositions. I did not exactly judge it expedient to say, ‘Meet me this evening in the cloisters’; but I talked of the beauty of the shadows here about sunset, and of my intention to finish a little aquarelle drawing of the said cloisters, with a Benedictine monk issuing from one of the adjoining passages—something just adapted for a lady’s album. I came. Had you not been here, I have no doubt I should have obtained a few minutes’ attention in spite of my ugliness.”
“She came here, however, expressly to meet me,” observed Hamilton, maliciously.
The Count stopped suddenly, and looked inquiringly in his companion’s face.
“She came with a message from her sister,” added Hamilton, quietly, and they again walked on together. “In fact,” he continued, “when you joined us, we were in the midst of a kind of altercation, which made your presence, to me at least, a great relief.”