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Updated: June 12, 2025
And that reminds me to-day the picture is on view to the art-critics and experts for the first time. I prophesy it will be sold at once!" "That would make her father happy," said Cyrillon slowly. "But she she will not care!" Aubrey looked at him attentively. "Have you seen her?" "Yes. For a moment only. I called at the Sovrani Palace and her father received me. We talked for some time together.
I am only Andre Petitot a lawyer, residing in the Boulevard Malesherbes. I have just come from your father's funeral." Cyrillon bowed gravely, and remained silent. "I have followed you," pursued Monsieur Petitot affably, "as soon as I could, according to the instructions I received, to ask when it will be convenient for you to hear me read your father's will?" The young man started.
So, after a brief pause, Cyrillon knelt down by the grave, and carried away by the solemnity of the scene, as well as by their own emotional excitement, more than half the crowd knelt with him, as, bending his head reverently over his clasped hands, he prayed aloud
"To lead!" answered Cyrillon with a passionate gesture, "To gather the straying thoughts of men into one burning focus and turn THAT fire on the world!" They were all silent for a minute then the Princesse D'Agramont spoke again "But Pardon me! Then you were about to destroy all your own chances of the future in your wild impulse of this morning?" "Oh, Madame, it was no wild impulse!
But I think YOU might do much if you would!" "I will do anything anything in the wide world!" said Cyrillon earnestly. "Surely you know that!" "Yes but you must not be too gentle with her! I do not mean that you should be rough God forbid! but if you would speak to her with authority if you could tell her that she owes her life and her work to the world to God "
"God is good!" said Cyrillon, crushing the paper in his hand and raising his eyes to the cloudy heavens "He does nothing that is unnecessarily cruel. He would not take that brilliant creature away till she had won the reward of her work happiness! No! something tells me this news is false! she cannot be dead! But I will start for Rome to-night."
Aubrey was silent for some minutes. "We must work, Cyrillon!" he said at last, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We must work and we must never leave off working! One man may do much, all history proves the conquering force of one determined will. You, young as you are, have persuaded France to listen to you, I am doing my best to persuade England to hear me.
And while these two simple-minded worthies were thus talking and strolling together home through the streets of Paris, Cyrillon Vergniaud, having parted from the few friends who had paid him the respect of their attendance at his father's grave, was making his way towards the Champs Elysees in a meditative frame of mind, when his attention was suddenly caught and riveted by a placard set up in front of one of the newspaper kiosks at the corner of a boulevard, on which in great black letters, was the name "Angela Sovrani."
Oh God! those cruel flames! he seems to reproach me, even to curse me for his death!" She shuddered and turned her face away. Cyrillon ventured to take her hand. "That is not like you, dear friend!" he said, his rich voice trembling with the pity he felt for her. "That is not like your brave spirit! You look only at one aspect of grief you see the darkness of the cloud, but not its brighter side.
Gys Grandit! the writer of fierce political polemics and powerful essays that were the life and soul, meat and drink of all the members of the Christian Democratic party! "Gys Grandit is my nom-de-plume," pursued the young man, composedly, "I never had any hope of being acknowledged as Cyrillon Vergniaud, son of my father, I had truly no name and resolved to create one.
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