“Model—the head!”
“Model—the foot!”
“Model—smile!”
At this formal injunction the concierge bridled up, distorted his eyes, twisted his lips, and swelled out his neck like a goiter.
Ethel and Mlle. Yvonne were not working from the Louis Quinze model. Helia posed for them in a corner of the studio—the corner of “still life.” She happened to be free that morning, as the figure of Morgana which Phil was painting from her was nearly finished. Helia had come down to the pupils’ studio to please Ethel, who greatly desired to do a head of the Madonna from her.
Ethel and Mlle. Yvonne chatted together as they added touches to their water-colors. Ethel was relating to her friend, Yvonne de Grojean, the visit she had paid some time before to Phil’s private studio, where she had seen the Duke of Morgania. She had also described the magnificent decorative painting which Phil was finishing for the duke.
Their conversation was punctuated here and there by the remarks cried out around them to the Louis Quinze marquis:
“Model—the eye!”
“Model—the mouth!”
“Really,” said Ethel, “that concierge is incorrigible. Why does he persist in not looking like the students’ drawings?”