Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/286

272 The Studio of the Spagnoletto. RIBERA before his canvas. LUCA in attendance.

So ! I am weary. Luca, what s o clock ?

My lord, an hour past noon.

So late already ! Well, one more morning of such delicate toil Will make it ready for Madrid, and worthy Not merely Philip s eyes, but theirs whose glance Outvalues a king s gaze, my noble friend Velasquez, and the monkish Zurbaran. Luca!

My lord.

Hath the signora risen ?

Fiametta passed a brief while since, and left My lady sleeping.