eye turned； and a breathless silence fell upon the group； followed by a scraping of chairs on the floor as each man sprang to his feet。
Bianchi's surprise had arrived！
CHAPTER XXI
〃THE WOMAN IN BLACK〃
In the doorway； immediately behind Bianchi and looking over the little man's head； stood a woman of perhaps forty years of age in full evening toilet。 About her head was wound a black lace scarf； and hanging from her beautiful shoulders； half…concealing a figure of marvellous symmetry； was a long black cloak； open at the throat； trimmed with fur； and lined with watermelon pink silk。 Tucked in her hair was a red japonica。 She was courtesying to the room with all the poise and graciousness of a prima donna saluting an audience。
Oliver sprang for his coat and was about to cram his arms into the sleeves； when she cried：
〃Oh； please don't！ I wish I could wear a coat myself； so that I could take it off and paint。 Oh！ the smell of the lovely pipes！ It's heavenly； and it's so like home。 Really；〃 and she looked about her； 〃this is the only place I have seen in America that I can breathe in。 I've heard of you all winter and I so wanted to come。 I would not give dear Bianchi any rest till he brought me。 Oh！ I'm so glad to be here。〃
Oliver and the others were still standing； looking in amazement at the new…corner。 One of the unwritten laws of the club was that no woman should ever enter its doors； a law that until this moment had never been broken。
While she was speaking Bianchi stepped back； and took the tips of the woman's fingers within his own。 When she had finished he thrust out one foot and； with the bow of an impresario introducing a new songstress； said：
〃Gentlemen of the Stone Mugs； I have the honor of presenting you to the Countess Kovalski。〃
Again the woman courtesied； sweeping the floor with her black velvet skirt； broke out into a laugh； handed her cloak and scarf to Bianchi； who threw them over the shoulders of the lay figure； and moved toward the table； Fred； as host； drawing out a chair for her。
〃Oh！what lovely beginnings〃 she continued； examining the sketches with her lorgnette； after the members had made their salutations； 〃Let me make one。 I studied two years with Achenbach。 You did not know that Bianchi； did you？ There are so many things you do not know； you lovely man。〃 She was as much at home as if she had been there every evening of her life。
Still； with the same joyous self…contained air she settled herself in Fred's proffered chair； picked up one of Jack's brushes； reached over his shoulder； and with a 〃please…hold…still； thank you；〃 scooped up a little yellow ochre from his palette； and unloaded it on a corner of a tile。 Then； stripping off her bracelets； she piled them in a heap before her； selected a Greek coin dangling from the end of one of them； propped it up on the table and began to paint； the men； all of whom were too astonished to resume their work； crowding about her； watching the play of her brush； a brush so masterful in its technique that before the picture was finished the room broke out in unrestrained applause。
During all this time she was talking in German to Crug； or in French to Waller； only stopping to light a fresh cigarette which she took from a jewelled case and laid beside her。 She could； no doubt； have as easily lapsed into Russian； Choctaw； or Chinese had there been any such strange people about。
When the men had resumed their customary seats and the room had once more settled to workit had only been a question of sex that had destroyed the equilibrium； a question no longer of value now that the fair intruder could really PAINTOliver bent over her and said in his most gallant manner：
〃If the Countess Kovalski will be gracious enough to excuse Bianchi （he had never left her elbow） I will try and make a burgomaster of him。 Perhaps you will help me tie this around his neck；〃 and he held out the white ruff。 He had put on his coat despite her protest。
〃What； dear Bianchi in a ruff！ Oh！ how perfectly charming！ That's really just what he looks like。 I've always told him that Rembrandt ought to have seen him。 Come； you sweet man； hold up your beautiful Dutch face。〃
As she spoke she caught the ruff from Oliver's hand and stretched out her bare arms toward Blanch。
〃No； I'm not going to pose now；〃 protested the Pole； pushing back her hands。 〃You can get me any time。 Take the Countess； Horn。 She'd make a stunner。〃
〃Yes！ Yes！ Please do；〃 she laughed； springing from her seat and clapping her hands with all the gayety and joyousness of a child over some expected pleasure。
Oliver hesitated for an instant； as he looked down into her eyes； wondering whether his brush could do justice to their depth。 Then he glanced at her supple figure and white skin in contrast to the black velvet； its edge softened by the fall of lace； the dominant； insistent note of the red japonica in her blue… black hair； the flesh tones brilliant under the gas…jets。 The color scheme was exactly what he had been looking for all winterblack； white； and a touch of red。
〃I have never been so honored； Madame。 Nothing could give me greater pleasure；〃 he answered； with a dry smile。 〃May I escort your ladyship to the platform？〃 And he held out his hand and conducted her to the stand facing the big easel。
Then there followed a scene such as many of the Stone Mugs had not shared in since they left the Latin Quarter。
The Countess stood erect on the raised platform； with head up and slightly turned； the full glare of the gas…jets falling upon her neck and throat； made all the more brilliant by reason of the dark green walls of Fred's studio； which formed the background behind her。 One arm was partly raised； a lighted cigarette between her fingers； the other was lost in the folds of the velvet gown。 She posed as naturally and as easily as if she had done nothing else all her life； and with a certain bravado and swing that enchanted everybody in the room。
One talent demanded of the artist members of the club when they sought admission； and insisted upon by the Committee； was the ability； possessed in a marked degree by Oliver； of making a rapid； telling sketch from life； and at night。 So expert had most of the members become that many of their pictures made under the gas…light were as correct in their color…values as those done in the day…time。 In this Oliver was past…master。 Most of his own work had to be done under artificial light during the long years of his struggle。
The menthey were again on their feetcrowded closer； forming a circle about the easel。 They saw that the subject appealed to Oliver； and they knew how much better he could paint when his heart was in his work。 His picture of Margaret Grant in the Tam… o'…Shanter cap； the best portrait at the last exhibition； had proved that。
Oliver saw the interest shown in his work and put himself on his mettle。 He felt that not only his own reputation； but the honor of the Stone Mugs； was at stake。 He felt； too； a certain pride and confidence in the sureness of his toucha touch that the woman he loved believed inone she had really taught him herself； He began by blocking in with a bit of charcoal the salient points of the composition。 Fred stood on his left hand holding a cigar…box filled with tubes of color； ready to unscrew their tops and pass them to Oliver as he needed them。
As the dark background of greenish black； under the vigorous strokes of his brush； began to relieve the flesh tones； and the coloring of the lips and the japonica in the hair took their places in the color… scheme； a murmur of applause ran through the room。 No such piece of night…work had ever been painted since the club had come together； and certainly not before。
〃A Fortuny； by thunder！〃 burst out Waller。 He had been the first man to recognize Oliver's talent in the old days and had always felt proud of his foresight。
For two hours Oliver stood before his canvas； the Countess resting now and then； floating over to the piano； as Simmons had done； running her fingers over its keys； or breaking out into Polish； Hungarian； or French songs at the pleasure of the room。 During these rests Oliver turned the picture to the wall。 He did not wish her to see it until it was finished。 He was trying some brush tricks that Madge loved； some that she had learned in Couture's atelier； and whose full effect could only be recognized in the finished work。
When the last touches of Oliver's brush had been laid on the canvas； and the modest signature； O。 H。； as was the custom； had been affixed to its lower left… hand corner； he made a low salaam to the model and whirled the easel in front of her。
The cry of delight that escaped her lips was not only an expression of her pleasure； but it convinced every man in the club that the Countess's technical knowledge of what constituted a work of art equalled her many other accomplishments。 She sat looking at it with thoughtful； grave face； and her whole manner changed。 She was no longer the woman who had so charmed the room。 She was the connoisseur； the expert； the jury of last resort。 Oliver watched her with absorbing interest as he sat wiping his forehead with his handkerchief。
〃Monsieur Horn；〃 she said； slowly； as if weighing each word； 〃if you come to my country they will cover you all over with medals。 I had no idea anyone in this new land could paint as you do。 You are a master。 Permit me； Monsieur； to make you my obeisance〃 and she dipped back on one foot and swept the floor with her skirts。
Oliver laughed； returned the bow with a mock flourish； and began rolling down his shirt…cuffs； a thrill quivering through himthat thrill only felt by a painter when he is conscious that some work of his brush has reached the high…water mark of his abilities。 For only the artist in him had been at work。 What stirred him was not the personality of the Countessnot her charm nor beauty but the harmony of the colors playing about her figure： the reflected lights in the blue…black of her hair； the soft tones of the velvet lost in the shadows of the floor； and melting into the walls behind her； the high lights on the bare shoulder and arms divided by the severe band of black； the subdued grays in the fall of la