Moor rarely painted by candlelight and he had heard him come home late, yet now--now....
He was roused from these thoughts by the artist, who had been feasting his eyes a long time on the handsome lad, now rapidly developing into a youth, as he stood before the canvas as if spellbound.

He felt what was passing in the awakening artist-soul, for a similar incident had happened to himself, when studying with his old master, Schorel.
"What is the matter ?" asked Moor as quietly as usual, laying his hand upon the arm of his embarrassed pupil.

"Your work seems to please you remarkably." "It is-I don't know"-- stammered Ulrich.

"It seems as if in the night...." "That often happens," interrupted the master.

"If a man devotes himself earnestly to his profession, and says to himself: 'Art shall be everything to me, all else trivial interruptions,' invisible powers aid him, and when he sees in the morning what he has created the day before, he imagines a miracle has happened." At these words Ulrich grew red and pale by turns.