"It was very reasonable,--a beginner's price," Goswyn replied, with a slight blush.
The old Countess laughed: she had no objection that Goswyn, with his limited means, should buy a picture just because it resembled her grand-daughter.
Meanwhile, Erika was trembling in every limb. Who but he could have painted the picture?--who else had seen Luzano,--Luzano, and herself? She felt proud of her protégé. In the corner of the picture she read 'Lozoncyi.' It pleased her that he had so fine-sounding a foreign name.
"You shall find out for me where the young man lives," Countess Lenzdorff cried, eagerly: "he must paint Erika for me while his prices are still reasonable."
Goswyn cleared his throat. "Much as I admire this young artist," he observed, "if I were you I would not have him paint Countess Erika."
"Why not?"
"Because he has another picture on exhibition here, to see which an extra price of admission is asked."
"Indeed!" cried the old lady. "Is it so very bad?"
"The worst of it is the curtain that hides it from the public, and the extra price paid to look at it," Goswyn replied, half laughing. "It certainly is a powerful thing,--painted later than 'The Seeress,' and under a different inspiration. If you would like to see it, let me play the part of Countess Erika's chaperon for a few minutes: you go behind that curtain."
The Countess Anna could not let such an opportunity slip. She was an old woman; no one--not even the over-scrupulous Goswyn--could object to her looking at the picture. So she blithely went her way.