“If, Madam, you doubt my word, consult this mirror; its reflection is not more true than my language.” As by degrees the Duchess, in compliance with Titian’s wishes, uncovered her foot, her leg, her knee--the whole of the admirable form which had placed on her fair brow the crown of Ferrara--Titian recalled the past; the vague ideas which had floated in his brain assumed consistency, and a name, a date, were all left wanting to satisfy him. And now the exquisite outline was nearly complete; one only obstacle remained, the few folds of velvet which like a dark shade fell on the form of snow white beauty, and prevented this master-piece of art from shining forth in all its dazzling perfection. “How happy was that artist,” exclaimed Titian with bitterness, “whose chisel was suffered to sculpture the Venus of old in all the chaste nudity of nature! He did not look on diamonds and draperies. Oh! were the same privilege given me, this day should my pencil also produce a Venus de Medicis!” “Behold me, then!” exclaimed the Duchess, half laughing. Titian, turning round, uttered a cry of amazement. The wife of Don Alphonso of Ferrara had dropped her last veil, and reclined on her divan precisely in the same attitude in which at this time Titian’s Venus may still be seen with delight in the gallery at Florence. “Great God! I was not then mistaken,” said Titian, hurrying towards her. “Well!” “It is you!” “It is me. Your model--your Laurette! Ungrateful man! you had then forgotten me!” “Can I believe it? the daughter of poor Guanetto?” “Yes, she, who for a morsel of bread came to stand in your studio as a model, at Venice, is now the Sovereign of Ferrara. But the most surprising part of the event is, that her old lord and master persisted in his forgetfulness, and refused to recognise the Duchess of Ferrara till she had again descended to her humble capacity of a model.” “I thought, indeed, those features were not unknown to me.” “Well, this is something.--However, I forgive you. Twelve years have elapsed, and I must be much altered.” “And how did you attain your present position?” “As the wife of Don Alphonso? Simply thus. He saw me, loved me, and married me--nothing more natural.” “Yes, he loves you, I have the proof of this.” “He adores me. Ever since your arrival at Ferrara, he has entreated me to give him this portrait. I avoided it as long as I could, but was at length obliged to consent to prevent his being seriously grieved. God knows, I dreaded the moment enough! for....” And the young woman hesitated, and sighed. “I understand: prudence bade you avoid me.” “No, it was shame.”