"Well, make up thy mind. What jokes are these?"
Just then from behind the screen came a trembling, imploring voice, with the prayer,—
"I have thought it over, sir. In our house there is poverty; but still—I—cannot! If you would be kind and take the head—for three francs, or even for two—if you would have the kindness."
And these words came with sobbing. Svirski turned toward the screen, dropped his brush, and opened his mouth. Unparalleled astonishment seized him, for the model was speaking in his own native tongue.
"Is the lady a Pole?" asked he at last, forgetting that a moment before he had said thou to her.
"Yes, sir. That is, my father was an Italian, but my grandfather is a Pole."
A moment of silence ensued. Svirski recovered, and said,—
"Arrange your dress; I will take only your head."
But evidently she had not begun to undress, for she came from behind the screen at once, confused, full of fear yet, and with traces of tears on her cheeks.
"I thank you," said she. "You are—I beg your pardon; but—"