But there is a land, I know it well, for it is my home--where Art buds and blossoms and throws its shade over all the highways.

Favorite of Antonio, knight of the Word--you must go to Italy!" Sophonisba had spoken.

He must go to Italy.

The home of Titian! Raphael! Buonarotti! where also the Master went to school.
"Oh, Word, Word!" he cried exultingly in his heart.

"What other can disclose, even on earth, such a glimpse of the joys of Paradise." When he left Sophonisba, he felt as if he were intoxicated.
What still detained him in Madrid?
Moor's zechins were not yet exhausted, and he was sure of the assistance of the "word" upon the sacred soil of Italy.
He unfolded his plan to Coello without delay, at first modestly, then firmly and defiantly.