He paused, lifted up the picture once more, and placed it on the table.

"But," he muttered, "might not this critic be envious?
am I sure that he judged rightly--fairly?
The greatest masters have looked askant and jealous at their pupils' works.

And then, how slow, how cold, how damned cold, how indifferently he spoke; why, the very art should have warmed him more.
Could he have--No, no, no: it was true, it was! I felt the conviction thrill through me like a searing iron.

Burn it--did he say--ay--burn it: it shall be done this instant." And, hastening to the door, he undid the bolt.

He staggered back as he beheld his old and nearest surviving relative, the mother of his father, seated upon the ground beside the door, terrified by the exclamations she did not dare to interrupt.