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Updated: May 6, 2025
Camille suppressed a yawn. "I don't know. Qui vivra verra." He was glad when they were all gone, Gontrand and Tor di Rocca and the rest, and he could stretch himself and sigh, and sing at the top of his voice: "'Nicholas, je vais me pendre Qu'est-ce que tu vas dire de cela? Si vous vous pendez ou v'vous pendez pas Ça m'est ben egal, Mam'zelle.
He wiped it with his handkerchief and looked thoughtfully at the stain on the white linen before he spoke. "Who is your friend?" "René Gontrand." "No, no!" cried the girl. "Filippo, it was your fault. Can't you be sorry and forget? Camille!" "Hush, child," he said, "you do not understand." Tor di Rocca was looking at her now with the old insolent smile in his red-brown eyes.
"The 'Jeune Fille' would have been quite enough for me to show, and it is dreadful to have to leave it unfinished now." And when Gontrand tried to persuade him to let him have Olive during his absence he was, as the girl phrased it, quite cross. "I have seen enough of that. Last year in the Salon St Elizabeth of Hungary, and Clytemnestra, and Malesherbe's vivandière were one and the same woman.
"I meant " The Prince stopped short. After all, he thought, he goes well who goes slowly. Camille was waiting. "You meant?" Tor di Rocca had had time to think. "Nothing," he said sweetly. Silence was again ensuing but Gontrand flung himself into the breach. "The Duchess said she wanted her daughter's portrait painted." "She said the same to me." "Are you going to do it?"
"Well, the hour is fixed. It will not be changed?" "No, the Prince preferred the early morning, but Michelin has an appointment he must keep with Vandervelde at noon." "Nothing will persuade him to alter it then?" she insisted. "Nothing." "That is well," she said sighing. "Good-bye, M'sieur Gontrand. You you will do your best for Camille." "You may rely on me," he answered.
You are not Roman; have you sat to any other man here?" "No. I am going to Varini's in the evenings next week." "Ah! Well, don't let anyone else get hold of you. Gontrand will be trying to snap you up. He is so tired of the cioccare. What shall I call you?" "Nothing. I have no name." "I shall give you one. You shall be called child. Come at nine and you will find the door open."
Besides, oreads are nearly related to Bacchantes, Gontrand, and I am not going to allow my little sewing-girl to be mixed up with people of that sort." He made Olive promise not to sit for any of the other men at the Villa Medici. "I shall work at Varini's in the evenings," she said. "And one of the men there wants me to come to his studio in the Via Margutta three mornings a week.
"Monsieur Michelin will see no one. Did he not tell you so this morning?" "But I have come for Monsieur Gontrand," she said. She hoped now above all things to find the black Gascon alone in his atelier near the Belvedere. The first move depended upon him, and there was no time to spare. She determined to await his return in the wood if he were out, but there was no need.
And now he saw that she smiled at Camille as she went by him into the further room, and the old bad blood stirred in him and he ached with a fierce jealousy. She had denied him. "Never!" she had said. As he joined the group of men by the door Gontrand turned to him. "Ah, Prince, have you heard that Michelin has already sold his picture?" "I am not surprised," the Italian answered suavely.
If only you would sit for me I might hope to achieve something too." "When M'sieur Michelin has done with me," she said. "You like the picture?" "It is adorable as you are." Other people were coming now. Camille stayed by the door to receive them while his friend Gontrand showed the drawings in the portfolio, explained the Campagna sketches, and handed plates of cake and sweets.
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