lose his chance.  On the other hand a sitting in a studio is not exactly like a meeting in a drawing-room.  The painter has a sort of traditional, exclusive right to his sitter’s sole attention.  The sitter, too, if a woman, enjoys the privilege of sacrificing one-half her good looks in a bad light, to favour the other side which is presented to the artist’s view, and the third person, if there be one, has a provoking habit of so placing himself as to receive the least flattering impression.  Hence the great unpopularity of the third person—­or “the third inconvenience,” as the Romans call him.

Orsino stood still for a few moments, wondering whether either of the two would ask him to sit down.  As they did not, he was annoyed with them and determined to stay, if only for five minutes.  He took up his position, in a deep seat under the high window, and watched Madame d’Aragona’s profile.  Neither she nor Gouache made any remark.  Gouache began to brush over the face of his picture.  Orsino felt that the silence was becoming awkward.  He began to regret that he had remained, for he discovered from his present position that the lady’s nose was indeed her defective feature.

“You do not mind my staying a few minutes?” he said, with a vague interrogation.

“Ask Madame, rather,” answered Gouache, brushing away in a lively manner.  Madame said nothing, and seemed not to have heard.

“Am I indiscreet?” asked Orsino.

“How?  No.  Why should you not remain?  Only, if you please, sit where I can see you.  Thanks.  I do not like to feel that some one is looking at me and that I cannot look at him, if I please—­and as for me, I am nailed in my position.  How can I turn my head?  Gouache is very severe.”

“You may have heard, Madame, that a beautiful woman is most beautiful in repose,” said Gouache.

Orsino was annoyed, for he had of course wished to make exactly the same remark.  But they were talking in French, and the Frenchman had the advantage of speed.

“And how about an ugly woman?” asked Madame d’Aragona.

“Motion is most becoming to her—­rapid motion—­the door,” answered the artist.

Orsino had changed his position and was standing behind Gouache.

“I wish you would sit down,” said the latter, after a short pause.  “I do not like to feel that any one is standing behind me when I am at work.  It is a weakness, but I cannot help it.  Do you believe in mental suggestion, Madame?”

“What is that?” asked Madame d’Aragona vaguely.

“I always imagine that a person standing behind me when I am at work is making me see everything as he sees,” answered Gouache, not attempting to answer the question.

Orsino, driven from pillar to post, had again moved away.

“And do you believe in such absurd superstitions?” enquired Madame d’Aragona with a contemptuous curl of her heavy lips.  “Monsieur de Saracinesca, will you not sit down?  You make me a little nervous.”