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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Carissima mia, why did you not introduce the Princesse D'Agramont to Mr. Leigh rather than the Comtesse Hermenstein?
But if I AM Sylvie Hermenstein, I shall remain invincible and immovable, both in myself and in my opinions!"
"If I am a perverted spirit you ought to be able to exorcise me, Monsignor!" she said, "With the incense of early Mass clinging to you, and the holy water still fresh on your hands, you have only to say, 'Retro me Sathanas! and if I am NOT Sylvie Hermenstein I shall melt into thin air, leaving nothing but the odour of sulphur behind me!
The door of the Sovrani palace was open, and in the centre of a group of people that had gathered within, among whom were Aubrey Leigh, Sylvie Hermenstein, and the Princesse D'Agramont, stood Cardinal Bonpre and Manuel. Manuel was a little in advance of the rest, and as the King and Prince Sovrani alighted, he came fully forward, his eyes shining, and a smile upon his lips.
Angela smiled, and Sylvie Hermenstein noted the warm and tender flush of pleasure that spread over her fair face. "Yes, Florian is an idealist," she said, "There is nothing of the brute in him." "And you think Fontenelle a brute?" queried Sylvie, "Yes, I suppose he is; but I have sometimes thought that all men are very much alike, except Florian!"
"Are you the Comtesse Hermenstein?" said Gherardi then, after an impressive pause, "The faithful, gentle daughter of Holy Church? or are you some perverted spirit wearing her semblance?" Sylvie laughed.
One glance of his eyes in the direction of Aubrey Leigh, where he sat absorbed in conversation with the Comtesse Hermenstein, had put the wily priest in an excellent humour, and nothing could exceed the deferential homage and attention he paid to Cardinal Bonpre, talking with him in low, confidential tones of the affairs which principally occupied their attention, the miraculous cure of Fabien Doucet, and the defection of Vergniaud from the Church.
Callistus, to see the illumination of the tomb of St. Cecilia, which takes place there annually on the Saint's Feast- Day, and he knew that Angela Sovrani and the Comtesse Hermenstein were to be of the Princesse's party. He was somewhat late in starting, and hired a fiacre to drive him along the Via Appia to his destination, but when he arrived there Mass had already commenced.
In his life of self-renunciation among the poorer classes, he had grown accustomed to pity women, to look upon them more or less as frail, broken creatures needing help and support, sometimes to be loved, but far more often to be despised and neglected. But Sylvie, Comtesse Hermenstein, was not of these, he knew, or thought he knew that she needed nothing.
The picture of Sylvie Hermenstein, with her child-like head, fair hair, and deep blue eyes, floated before him, she was fond of violets, and whenever she wore them, their odour seemed to be the natural exhalation of her sweet and spirituelle personality.
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