r of little difficulty when she had learned that
the young artist had already a reputation. It pleased her to fancy that
by telling him to paint her portrait she might pose as his patroness, and
hereafter reap the reputation of having influenced his career. For
fashion, and the desire to be the representative of fashion, led Donna
Tullia hither and thither as a lapdog is led by a string; and there
is nothing more in the fashion than to patronise a fashionable
portrait-painter.

But after Anastase Gouache had thus delivered himself of his views upon
Del Ferice and the faculty of artistic comparison, the conversation
languished, and Donna Tullia grew restless. "She had sat enough," she
said; and as her expression was not favourable to the portrait, Anastase
did not contradict her, but presently suffered her to depart in peace
with her devoted adorer at her heels. And when they were gone, Anastase
lighted a cigarette, and took a piece of charcoal and sketched a
caricature of Donna Tullia in a liberty cap, in a fine theatrical
attitude, invoking the aid of Del Ferice, who appeared as the Angel of
Death, with the guillotine in the background. Having put the finishing
touches to this work of art, Anastase locked his studio and went to
breakfast, humming an air from the "Belle Helene."

CHAPTER VIII.

When Corona reached home she went to her own small boudoir, with the
intention of remaining there for an hour if she could do so without being
disturbed. There was a prospect of this; for on inquiry she ascertained
that her husband was not yet dressed, and his dressing took a very long
time. He had a cosmopolitan valet, who alone of living men understood the
art of fitting the artificial and the natural Astrardente together.
Corona believed this man to be an accomplished scoundrel; but she never
had any proof that he was anything worse than a very clever servant,
thoroughly unscrupulous where his master's interests or his own were
concerned. The old Duca believed in him sincerely and trusted him alone,
feeling that since he could never be a hero in his valet's eyes, he might
as well take advantage of that misfortune in order to gain a confident.

Corona found three or four letters upon her table, and sat down to read
them, letting her fur mantle drop to the floor, and putting her small
feet out towards the fire, for the pavement of the church had been cold.

She was destined to pass an eventful day, it seemed. One of