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VIII

The next morning when the Princess crept through the breach in the wall where the brook goes gurgling under the road and, with easel, paintbox, and canvas, began the ascent of the glade she met with a shock. There, not a dozen feet from her chosen spot, was an easel, and in front of the easel was a man. He wore a brown velvet jacket, a dark blue beret sat rakishly over one ear, and a cloud of smoke hung about his head. Prudence's heart sank. She had hoped to finish