"It was the model—partly," he said half grudgingly.
"I know—Violante." Zarato spoke the name softly. He hesitated a moment. "Would she pose for any one—for me, do you think?"
Titian laughed harshly. "Better not, my boy—Better not! When she gets into a brush, it is a lost brush, Zarato—bewitched forever! Look there—and there—and there!" His rapid hand flashed at the canvases.
The young man's eyes followed the gesture. "The result is not so bad," he said gravely.
Titian laughed back. "Not so bad!..." He studied them a minute. "You've no idea how I had to fight to keep her out—And, oh, that hair!" He groaned thoughtfully, looking at the canvases—"Palma's worse!" he chuckled.
The young man started. A thought crossed his face and he looked up. "And Giorgione?" he asked doubtingly.
Titian shook his head grimly. "He married her."
The young man moved a little away. He picked up a small book and mechanically turned the leaves.
The older man eyed him keenly.
"Don't mind me, Zarato." He said it kindly, and laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I have no right to say anything against her—except that she's a somewhat fickle woman," he added dryly.