Ulrich recognized her instantly; it was Carmen, the pretty embroiderer of the shell-grotto in the park, now the wife of the new porter, who had obtained his dead predecessor’s office, as well as his daughter.

“Carmen!” exclaimed Ulrich, as soon as he saw the pretty little woman, then added confidently.  “This young lady knows me.”

“I?” asked the young wife, turning up her pretty little nose, and looking at the tall youth’s shabby costume.  “Who are you?”

“Master Moor’s pupil, Ulrich Navarrete; don’t you remember me?”

“I?  You must be mistaken!”

With these words she shut her fan so abruptly, that it snapped loudly, and tripped on.

Ulrich shrugged his shoulders, then turned to the porter more courteously, and this time succeeded in his purpose; for the artist Coello’s body-servant came out of the treasury, and willingly announced him to his master, who now, as court-artist, occupied Moor’s quarters.

Ulrich followed the friendly Pablo into the palace, where every step he mounted reminded him of his old master and former days.

When he at last stood in the anteroom, and the odor of the fresh oil-colors, which were being ground in an adjoining room, reached his nostrils, he inhaled it no less eagerly than, an hour before, he had breathed the fresh air, of which he had been so long deprived.

What reception could he expect?  The court-artist might easily shrink from coming in contact with the pupil of Moor, who had now lost the sovereign’s favor.  Coello was a very different man from the Master, a child of the moment, varying every day.  Sometimes haughty and repellent, on other occasions a gay, merry companion, who had jested with his own children and Ulrich also, as if all were on the same footing.  If today . . . but Ulrich did not have much time for such reflections; a few minutes after Pablo left, the door was torn open, and the whole Coello family rushed joyously to meet him; Isabella first.  Sanchez followed close behind her, then came the artist, next his stout, clumsy wife, whom Ulrich had rarely seen, because she usually spent the whole day lying on a couch with her lap-dog.  Last of all appeared the duenna Catalina, a would-be sweet smile hovering around her lips.

The reception given him by the others was all the more joyous and cordial.

Isabella laid her hands on his arm, as if she wanted to feel that it was really he; and yet, when she looked at him more closely, she shook her head as if there was something strange in his appearance.  Sanchez embraced him, whirling him round and round, Coello shook hands, murmuring many kind words, and the mother turned to the duenna, exclaiming: 

“Holy Virgin! what has happened to the pretty boy?  How famished he looks!  Go to the kitchen instantly, Catalina, and tell Diego to bring him food—­food and drink.”

At last they all pulled and pushed him into the sitting-room, where the mother immediately threw herself on the couch again; then the others questioned him, making him tell them how he had fared, whence he came, and many other particulars.