The king smiled, but it was easy to see that the flattery did not offend him; as his wont was, he forgot the artist for his art, saved the statue half the journey by walking to meet it, and examined it for a long time in silence. Charles V., who was by nature an astute politician rather than a great artist, although he did one day, in a moment of good humor, pick up Titian's pencil,--Charles V. and the courtiers, who were not entitled to an opinion, waited respectfully to hear that of François before pronouncing their own. There was a moment of silent suspense, during which Benvenuto and the duchess exchanged a glance of bitter hatred. Suddenly the king cried,-- "It is beautiful! it is very beautiful! and I confess that my expectations are surpassed." Thereupon every one overflowed in compliments and extravagant praise, the Emperor first of all. "If one could conquer artists like cities," said he to the king, "I would declare war on you instantly, to win this one, my cousin." "But, after all," interrupted Madame d'Etampes, in a rage, "we do not even look at the beautiful antique statues a little farther on, which have somewhat more merit, perhaps, than our modern gewgaws." The king thereupon walked toward the antique statues, which were lighted from below by the torches, so that the upper portions were in shadow; they were beyond question much less effective than the Jupiter. "Phidias is sublime," said the king, "but there may be a Phidias in the age of François I. and Charles V., as there was in the age of Pericles." "Oh, we must see it by daylight," said Anne, bitterly; "to appear to be is not to be: an artificial light is not art. And what is that veil? is it to conceal some defect, Master Cellini, tell us frankly?" She referred to a very light drapery thrown over the statue to give it more majesty. Thus far Benvenuto had remained beside his statue, silent, and apparently as cold as it; but at the duchess's words, he smiled disdainfully, shot lightning from his black eyes, and, with the sublime audacity of a heathen artist, snatched the veil away with his powerful hand. He expected that the duchess would burst forth with renewed fury. But by an incredible exertion of her will power, she smiled with ominous affability, and graciously held out her hand to Cellini, who was amazed beyond measure by this sudden change of tactics. "I was wrong," she said aloud, in the tone of a spoiled child; "you are a great sculptor, Cellini; forgive my critical remarks; give me your hand, and let us be friends henceforth. What say you?" She added in an undertone, with extreme volubility: "Think well of what you are about to ask, Cellini. Let it not be the marriage of Colombe and Ascanio, or I swear that Colombe, Ascanio, and yourself, all three, are undone forever!" "And suppose I request something else, madame," said Benvenuto, in the same tone; "will you second my request?"