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Updated: June 21, 2025
Why, he is hideous! You cannot have looked at him carefully." "On the contrary, I had a perfect view. He was opposite us. That mask, as of a white Ethiopian, would be superb in marble. And not vulgar, in any case. Besides, since he is so ugly as that, you will not be so unhappy as you were last year when I was doing Mora's bust. What a disagreeable face you had, Jenkins, in those days!"
Suddenly he brought his fist down upon the table in a rage: "When I think that, if I had chosen, I might have entered Mora's service instead of Monpavon's, that I might have had Louis's place! There was a lucky dog! Think of the rolls of a thousand he nabbed at his duke's death!
His name Monpavon was well suited to him. Paon, peacock from Latin pavo, pavonis. Belonging to a great family, with wealthy kindred, the Duc de Mora's friendship had procured for him a receiver-generalship of the first class.
He was going away, he was going to Tunis, very uneasy at the idea of leaving his poor Nabob in the midst of his bloodthirsty pack of pursuers; however, Mora's friendship reassured him somewhat, and, moreover, the journey was absolutely necessary. "And what about the Territoriale?" asked the old book-keeper, always recurring to his fixed idea. "How does that stand?
Monpavon, entering the room in Jenkins' wake, caught the suddenly perturbed expression of the great nobleman brought face to face with the terrible truth, and was at the same time horrified by the ravages made in a few hours on Mora's emaciated face, where all the wrinkles belonging to his age, appearing suddenly, mingled with the wrinkles caused by suffering, with the depression of muscles which indicates serious internal lesions.
Looking at the gallant figure before him, the Bishop's soul responded to the noble words, and he longed to praise them and applaud. But he thought of Mora's peace of mind, Mora's awakened heart and dawning happiness. For her sake he must make a final stand.
No crucifix hung on the wall. But, in a niche above the altar, stood a wondrous figure of the Christ; not dying, not dead; not glorified and ascending; but the Christ as very man, walking the earth in human form, yet calmly, unmistakably, triumphantly Divine. The marble form was carved by the same hand as the Madonna which the Bishop had brought from Rome, and placed in Mora's cell at the Convent.
All this, in rapid retrospect, passed through Mora's mind as she stood alone beside her splendid Knight, miserably conscious that she had shivered, and that he knew it; and fearful lest he divined the shrinking of her soul away from him, away from love, away from all for which love stood. Alas, alas!
He was going away, going to Tunis, very much troubled at leaving his poor Nabob in the midst of the pack of furious wolves that surrounded him. Mora's protection, however, gave him some reassurance; and then, the journey in question was absolutely necessary. "And the Territorial?" asked the old accountant, ever returning to the subject in his mind. "How are things standing there?
"Good my lord," she said, her eagerness allowing of scant ceremony, "comes Sir Hugh d'Argent hither this night?" "Aye," replied the Bishop, looking with kindly eyes upon Mora's old nurse. "Within two hours, he should be here." "Comes he alone, my lord?" asked Mistress Deborah.
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