"Be at rest," said Svirski. "Here is the chair; have no fear. You will pose for your head; I had no wish to offend you. You see that picture. I wanted a model for this figure here. But since it is so painful to you, the question is changed, especially as you are a Pole."
Tears began to flow over her cheeks again; but she looked at him through her blue eyes with gratitude; he found a bottle of wine, poured out half a glass, and, giving it to her, said,—
"Drink this. I have biscuits here somewhere, but deuce knows where they are. I ask you to drink. There, it is all right. Your hand trembles; but there is no danger here—I beg you to be calm."
And saying this he looked at her with the sympathy of his honest eyes, and said after a while,—
"Poor child!"
Then he stepped aside, and put the easel in its old place, saying while he did so, —
"There is no posing to-day. You are too much excited. To-morrow, we will begin work early; to-day, we will talk a little. Who could guess that Maria Cervi was a Pole! Your grandfather is a Pole then, is he not? Is he alive?"
"Yes; but he has not walked for the last two years."
"What is his name?"
"Orysevich," answered she, speaking somewhat with a foreign accent.