Part 70 (2/2)
You know the picture was on view for the first time yesterday to some of the critics and experts in Rome?”
Angela made a faint sign of a.s.sent. Her wistful eyes were full of wonder and anxiety.
”Well, among them was a purchaser for America--Oh, you need not look at me, my dear!--I have nothing to do with it! You shall see the letter your father received--and you shall decide; but the end of the whole matter is, Angela, that if you consent, the picture will be bought, not by any private purchaser, but by the American nation.”
”The American nation!” repeated Angela. ”Are you really, really sure of this?”
”Quite sure!” said Sylvie joyously. ”And you must say good-bye to it and let it go across the wide ocean--out to the New World all alone with its grand and beautiful message,--unless you go with it and show the Americans something even more perfect and beautiful in yourself than the picture!--and you must be content to take twenty thousand pounds for it, and be acknowledged as the greatest painter of the age as well! This will be hard work, Angela!--but you must resign yourself!”
She laughed for pure delight in her friend's triumph,--but Angela turned at once to her father.
”Dearest father!” she said softly. ”I am glad--for your sake!”
He folded her in his arms, too deeply moved to speak, and then as he felt her trembling, he led her to a chair and beckoned to Cyrillon Vergniaud who had stood apart, watching the little scene in silence.
”Come and talk to this dear girl!” he said. ”She is not at all a good hostess to-day! She ought to entertain the bride and bridegroom here,--but it seems as if she needed to be entertained herself!” And then, as Cyrillon obeyed him, and drew near the idol of his thoughts with such hesitating reverence as might befit a pilgrim approaching the shrine of a beloved saint, he turned away and was just about to speak to the Princesse D'Agramont when a servant entered and said hurriedly--
”Monsignor Gherardi desires to see Cardinal Bonpre!”
There was a dead pause. The group of friends looked at one another in embarra.s.sment. Angela rose from her chair trembling and glanced instinctively at her picture--and for a moment no one seemed quite certain what should be done next. The Princesse D'Agramont was the first to recover her self-possession.
”Angela must not be here,” she said. ”She is not strong enough to stand a scene. And no doubt Gherardi has come to make one! We will leave him to you, Mr. Leigh--and to Gys Grandit!”
She withdrew at once with Angela, and in another moment Gherardi was ushered in. He glanced quickly around him as he made his formal salutation,--his eyes rested for a moment on Sylvie and Aubrey Leigh--then he addressed himself to Prince Pietro.
”I am sorry to intrude upon you, Prince!” he said. ”I have an urgent matter to discuss with Cardinal Bonpre, and must see him at once.”
”I regret that it is not in my power to gratify your desire, Monsignor,” said Prince Sovrani with stiff courtesy. ”My brother-in-law the Cardinal left Rome last night”
”Left Rome! Left Rome!” exclaimed Gherardi. ”Who gave him permission to leave Rome!”
”Was permission necessary?” asked Aubrey, stepping forward.
”I did not address you, sir,” returned Gherardi haughtily. ”I spoke to Prince Sovrani.”
”Prince Sovrani might well decline to answer you,” said Aubrey undauntedly. ”Were I to make him acquainted with the fiendish plot you have contrived against his daughter's fame and honour, he would scarcely allow you to cross his threshold!”
Gherardi stood still, breathing quickly, but otherwise unmoved.
”Plot?” he echoed. ”You must be mad! I have no plot against anyone. My business is to uphold the cause of truth and justice, and I shall certainly defend the name of the great artist who painted that picture”--and he pointed to Angela's canvas--”Florian Varillo! Dead as he is, his memory shall live!”
”Dead!” cried Prince Sovrani, springing forward. ”Dead! Make me sure of that, and I will praise G.o.d even for your lying tongue, if it could for once speak such a welcome truth!”
Gherardi drew back amazed, instinctively recoiling from the flas.h.i.+ng eyes and threatening figure of the irate n.o.bleman.
”Speak!” cried Sovrani again. ”Tell me that the murderer of my child's youth and joy is dead and gone to h.e.l.l--and I will sing a Laus Deo at St. Peter's! I will pay you a thousand pounds in ma.s.ses to keep his soul safe with the devil to whom it has gone!”
”Prince Sovrani, you are in ignorance of the facts,” said Gherardi coldly. ”And you speak in an anger, which if what you suspect were true, would be natural enough, but which under present circ.u.mstances is greatly misplaced. The unfortunate Florian Varillo has been ill for many days at a Trappist monastery on the Campagna. He had gone out towards Frascati on a matter connected with some business before starting for Naples, and as he was returning, he was suddenly met by the news of the a.s.sa.s.sination of his betrothed wife--”
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