"Very naturally, since he was my model," Hans said, with a laugh. "I have indeed only made use of his characteristic expression,--one of indignant reproof." The Countess seemed quite carried away by the picture, and was lavish in her praise. Hertha thought the conception fine, the composition broad, the colouring magnificent, but while noticing and admiring all this, she had no word of praise for the countenance of the Saint. Hans, with his wonted amiability, played the part of cicerone to the ladies in his studio, since they were desirous to see all his work. He brought out a picture that had been leaning face to the wall, set it up, and was endeavouring to place it in the best light, while the Countess opened a large portfolio lying upon the table, containing a number of sketches and studies, all the result of the young artist's last autumnal excursion,--clever drawings of huntsmen and peasants in the national costume, with here and there a head of some pretty peasant-girl; there was a sketch--slight enough, but wonderfully like--of the priest of Saint Michael, and there were various mountain and forest views, all so fresh and full of life that the Countess turned over leaf after leaf with delight. Suddenly Hans perceived what she was doing, and hurried towards her as if to guard his portfolio from attack: "Allow me, madame,--the portfolio is very awkwardly placed. Let me show you the sketches," he said, hastily, pushing forward a chair with eager courtesy, and beginning to lay the sketches out upon the table one by one. As he did so, he took one of them, apparently by chance, and laid it aside. "Am I not to see that drawing?" the lady asked, a fleeting glimpse having shown her a study of the head of a young girl. "Oh, it is not worth showing. A mere study,--a failure," the young man declared, but his face flushed as he spoke. The Countess shook her finger at him: "Aha! Herr Hans Wehlau seems to have secrets of his own. Who can tell what romances have been woven among the mountains?" Hans defended himself with a laugh; but when the portfolio had been looked through, and the Countess turned to the picture he had placed on an easel, he thought it best to hide his 'failure' behind a window-curtain, where it was quite safe from curious eyes. Hertha was still standing before the large painting, and Michael was at her side. He made no attempt to avoid her, but kept his place with perfect composure, and went on talking of his friend's talent, of his prospects, of his intention to compete for the prize offered for a large historical painting, and of the sketches he had already made of it. The entire absence of constraint in his conversation was a relief to the young Countess, although it slightly embarrassed her. Woman of the world though she were, she could hardly adopt the same tone after--after that hour at Saint Michael.