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Updated: May 25, 2025
He moved in his gentle light way out of the room, and without another word they followed. Outside the studio door they paused, and Prince Sovrani tried again and again to open it, calling "Angela!" now loudly, now softly, now entreatingly, now commandingly, all to no purpose.
People knew well enough that he was poor, but they never dared to mention it, though once an English acquaintance, moved by the best intentions in the world, had suggested that he could make a good deal of money by having a portion of the Palazzo Sovrani redecorated, and modernized, to suit the comfort and convenience of travelling millionaires who might probably be disposed to pay a high rent for it during the Roman "season."
And Monsieur l'Abbe, showing no intention to take his leave on account of the Cardinal's non-presence, bowed low over the extended hand of "the Sovrani" as she was sometimes called in the world of art, where her name was a bone for envious dogs-in- the-manger to fight over "But if I might wait a little while "
And as the express tore its grinding way along over the iron rails towards the south, he repeated to himself over and over again as in a dream "No Angela Sovrani is not dead! She cannot be dead! God is too good for that. He will not let her die before she knows before she knows I love her!"
"A mystery then?" said Gherardi, still preserving his bland suavity of demeanour, "But permit me, Donna Sovrani, to express the hope that when the veil is lifted a crown of laurels may be disclosed for you!" Angela thanked him by a silent inclination of her head, and in a few minutes the stately Vatican spy had taken his leave.
Cardinal Bonpre, always observant, noticed his action. "You will not leave the flowers there?" he queried. "No. The picture is a sacred thing! it is an almost living Christ! -in whom Varillo does not believe!" The Cardinal lifted his eyes protestingly. "Yet you let the child marry him?" Sovrani passed one hand wearily across his brows.
"I was presented to him in Paris the day before I left for Florence," replied Aubrey, "at the studio of his niece, Donna Angela Sovrani." "Ah!" and Gherardi balanced a paper-knife lightly on the point of his long forefinger, "An unpleasant woman that! One of the female 'geniuses' who presume nowadays to compete with men in art and literature."
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 think he enjoyed every note of it," said Leigh, "A thoughtful lad! He was very silent while I played, but silence is often the most eloquent appreciation." "Are we to be silent then over the work of Donna Sovrani?" enquired the Abbe gaily. "Must we not express our admiration?"
"All the world honours and loves your daughter, my friend!" he said, "And Rome, the Mother of Nations, mourns the loss of her youngest child of genius." "No no, not loss! she is not dead " began Sovrani stammeringly, "I should have told your Majesty she is grievously wounded but not dead . . ." At that moment the carriage stopped.
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