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IN A WINTER CITY.

instead, in and out of the studios whose artists adored her, though she was terribly hard to please, and had much more acquaintance with art than is desirable in a purchaser.

In one of the studios she chanced to meet the master of Palestrina; and he went with her to another atelier, and another and another.

She had her Paysanne shoes on, and her gold-headed cane, and let her victoria stand still while she walked from one to the other of those sculptors' and painters' dens, which lie so close together, like beavers' work in the old grey quarters of the city.

Up and down the dark staircases, and in and out the gloomy vaulted passages, her silver-grey cloth with the marabout ruches gleamed and glistened, and to many of the artists proved as beneficent as a silvery cloud to the thirsty fields in summer.

She was surprised to find how much she liked it. There was not much genius, and there was a great deal of bad drawing, and worse modelling, and she had educated herself in the very strictest and coldest canons of art, and really cared for