“Where is it worn?” That was a serious question. By this time the clothes were on the mannikin, the palette was set, Villegas unrolled the great sheaf of brushes, and was ready to go to work.
“On the left leg below the knee,” said J. There was some argument on the point, finally settled by appeal to a Van Dyke portrait in the Prado.
“They have forgotten the shoes!” cried Angoscia.
“There is nothing remarkable about them: any low evening pumps will do till the next sitting,” said Villegas.
“Mariano Benlliure has a pair!” cried Jaime, and went off in a cab to borrow them. He came back with two pairs of patent leather pumps nicely fitted on wooden lasts.
“Mariano must be very rich,” said Jaime. “I will pawn the pair you don’t use, send him the ticket, and when he wants to wear them he can redeem the shoes.”
At last the mannikin was dressed with the King’s clothes and put in the right pose and Villegas got to work. He did not like to paint from the mannikin; he said it looked too stiff, and would spoil the portrait, but that it would be impossible to put the King’s clothes on a model!
“If Don Alfonzo had only given me a sitting instead of going hunting to-day!” he sighed, squeezing more yellow ochre on his palette to paint the garter; “I should like to have gone into the country too!”
“A hundred years from now who will care whether the King went hunting to-day or not? Somebody may be glad that you stayed in your studio and worked.”
“Quien sabé?” sighed Villegas.