II
TERESA came down the avenue, where a vague breath of spring floated above the muddy pavement. She walked with her quick, light step toward the little park at the end of the street, seeing with pleasure the faint touch of green showing through the arch; but before reaching it she turned into a side street, smiling. She held her light-grey dress carefully up from the walk, showing pretty, carefully-shod feet. A great bunch of purple violets was fastened in her short coat. Her eyes looked out from the shade of a broad black hat, gaily, blue as the sky.
She went toward the rushing noisy stream of Sixth Avenue; midway was the studio-building, her destination. In front of the building a carriage was standing; a discreet brougham, dark-blue in colour; two resplendent bay horses, a coachman in light livery. A footman with a lap-robe over his arm walked up and down before the door of the studios. Teresa seemed to see in the expression of the horses and the servants that they had been waiting a long time. She knew the carriage, and at sight of it the smile of her eyes had vanished and she blushed suddenly with vexation. She went into the building, but in the hall she hesitated, walked up and down for a few moments, and finally stopped before a
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