The Hound of Florence by Felix Salten Page B

and even the heavens addressed him, as did also the kindly sun and the people in the streets, cheerful, proud and graceful, guileless in their merry laughter and song. They all gave him the impression of being glad to be alive, glad to be at work; their very faces filled him with courage. His heart glowed every time he asked one of them the way to Cesare Bandini’s house. The cheerful readiness with which they replied, the easy dignity of their bearing, the proud carriage of their heads, and the noble sincerity and courtesy of their smiling faces inspired him with a sense of power. And now as he stood at the entrance to Bandini’s house, feeling both strong and brave, it seemed to him that he was on the threshold of a new and better life.
    And lo! what was the first sight to catch his eye, but a group of three children on the grass, with arms uplifted holding a large shell above their heads. They were three boys between eight and ten years of age, with sturdy little brown bodies, on the pulsating flesh of which the verdant shadows of the trees kept up a constant play of light and shade. Ever and anon they would lower the shell; but only for a moment, and then they would raise it again in a slightly different pose, dancing, standing still, dancing again. A small gathering of young men were sitting on low stools on the grass round the lively group, drawing and modelling, or calling to the little boys and joking with them. One of them, catching sight of Lucas standing in the hall, sprang to his feet and hastened over to him.
    â€œWhat is it you want?” he asked.
    â€œI want to see Maestro Cesare Bandini,” replied Lucas. He had uttered the words many times that morning but this time they had an anxious, resolute ring which implied that he refused to be turned away.
    The young man smiled. He was a handsome youth with slender shoulders and thin, hollow cheeks; his pale brow rose in a noble curve to the black waves of hair, his eyes looked gentle and thoughtful, and the smile on his fresh lips was kindly. His smile was provoked by the anxious, defiant tone in Lucas’s reply, and was intended to reassure him. He did not answer at once, and so Lucas began again. “I should like to. . . .”
    â€œImportant?” interrupted the young man. Lucas merely closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows.
    â€œOver there!” The young man pointed to a long straggling shed, built along one side of the garden. It had several large windows looking out on to the lawn.
    Lucas and his companion crossed the courtyard, passing through a medley of broken statues, busts, blocks of stone, heaps of scrap iron, old vases and paint pots. He would have liked to run but did not dare. They entered the garden where the naked children were now running about as they pleased. The other students only cast a fleeting glance at Lucas as he passed, and went on with their work. One or two of them were singing or whistling softly to themselves.
    Lucas screwed up all his courage.
    â€œAre you one of Bandini’s pupils?” he enquired of his guide.
    â€œI am Filippo Volta, the painter,” the young man replied with a friendly smile.
    By this time they had reached a glass door. “Just go in and keep quiet,” said Filippo. “Don’t attempt to say good-day or anything else. He doesn’t like that sort of thing when he’s at work. Just wait and say nothing. He’ll speak to you all in good time.”
    Hardly daring to breathe, Lucas gave a silent nod. With a smile Filippo Volta left him and returned to his place.
    Almost blind with excitement, Lucas entered. He stood still close to the door, gasping for breath and casting a quick nervous glance round the long whitewashed room with its black rafters overhead. It took him some time to distinguish what was before him. Along the walls he saw picture after picture, framed and unframed, depicting in luminous colors every aspect of the human form.