Marynia and Pan Stanislav approached the portrait, and could express admiration without excess of politeness. That head, painted in water-colors, had the strength and warmth of an oil painting, and at the same time the whole spiritual essence of Pani Osnovski was in it. Svirski listened to the praises calmly; it was clear that he was pleased with his work. He covered the picture, and carried it to a dark corner of the studio, seated Marynia in an armchair already in position, and began to study her. His persistent gaze confused her somewhat,--her cheeks began to flush; but he smiled with pleasure, muttering,-- "Yes; this is another type,--earth and heaven!" At moments he closed one eye, which confused Marynia still more; at moments he approached the cardboard, and again drew back, and again studied her; and again he said, as if to himself,-- "In the other case, one had to bring out the devil, but here womanliness." "As you have seen that immediately, I feel sure of a masterpiece," said Pan Stanislav. All at once Svirski stopped looking at the paper and at Marynia, and, turning to Pan Stanislav, smiled joyously, showing his sound teeth. "Yes, womanliness! and her own womanliness, that is the main characteristic of the face." "And seize it, as you seized the devil in the other one." "Stas!" exclaimed Marynia. "It is not I who invented that, but Pan Svirski." "If you wish, we will say imp, not devil,--a comely imp, but a dangerous one. While painting, I observe various things. That is a curious type,--Pani Osnovski." "Why?" "Have you observed her husband?" "Somehow I was so occupied with her that I had no time." "There it is: she hides him in such a degree that he is hardly visible; and, what is worse, she herself does not see him. At the same time he is one of the most worthy men in the world, uncommonly well-bred, considerate to others in an unheard-of degree, very rich, and not at all stupid. Moreover, he loves her to distraction." Here Svirski began to paint, and repeated, as if in forgetfulness,-- "Lo-ves her to dis-trac-tion. Be pleased to arrange your hair a little about the ear. If your husband is a talker, he will be in despair, for Bukatski declares that when I begin work my lips never close, and that I let no one have a word. She, do you see, may be thus far as pure as a tear, but she is a coquette. She has an icy heart with a fiery head. A dangerous species,--oh, dangerous! She devours books by whole dozens,--naturally French books. She learns psychology in them, learns of feminine temperaments, of the enigma of woman, seeks enigmas in herself, which do not exist at all in her, discovers aspirations of which yesterday she knew nothing. She is depraving herself mentally; this mental depravation she considers wisdom, and makes no account of her husband." "But you are a terrible man," remarked Marynia. "My wife will hide to-morrow from fear, when the hour for sitting comes," said Pan Stanislav.