Coello could make no reply, but the king, glancing at the picture again, cried wrathfully:
"A Christian's work, a Christian's! What does the reptile who painted this know of the mother, the Virgin, the stainless lily, the thornless rose, the path by which God came to men, the mother of sorrow, who bought the world with her tears, as Christ did with His sacred blood. I have seen enough, more than enough! Escovedo is waiting for me outside! We will discuss the triumphal arch to-morrow!"
Philip left the studio, the court-artist accompanying him to the door.
When he returned, the unhappy youth was still standing in the same place, gazing, panting for breath, at his condemned work.
"Poor fellow!" said Coello, compassionately, approaching him; but Ulrich interrupted, gasping in broken accents:
"And you, you? Your verdict!"
The other shrugged his shoulders and answered with sincere pity:
"His Majesty is not indulgent; but come here and look yourself. I will not speak of the child, though it…. In God's name, let us leave it as it is. The picture impresses me as it did the king, and the Madonna— I grieve to say it, she belongs anywhere rather than in Heaven. How often this subject is painted! If Meister Antonio, if Moor should see this…."
"Then, then?" asked Ulrich, his eyes glowing with a gloomy fire.
"He would compel you to begin at the beginning once more. I am sincerely sorry for you, and not less so for poor Belita. My wife will triumph! You know I have always upheld your cause; but this luckless work…"