Gouache."

"Is that really your belief?" asked the artist, quietly.

"Yes. As for my freedom, I am as free as air; no one thinks of hindering
my movements. As for the laws, they are made for good citizens, and good
citizens will respect them; if bad citizens do not, that is their loss.
My acres are safe, possibly because they are not worth taking, though
they yield me a modest competence sufficient for my needs and for the
needs of those who cultivate them for me."

"And yet there is a great deal of talk in Rome about misery and injustice
and oppression--"

"There will be a great deal more talk about those evils, with much better
cause, if people who think like you succeed in bringing about a
revolution, Monsieur Gouache," answered Giovanni, coldly.

"If many people think like you, prince, a revolution is not to be thought
of. As for me I am a foreigner and I see what I can, and listen to what I
hear."

"A revolution is not to be thought of. It was tried here and failed. If
we are overcome by a great power from without, we shall have no choice
but to yield, if any of us survive--for we would fight. But we have
nothing to fear from within."

"Perhaps not," returned Gouache, thoughtfully. "I hear such opposite
opinions that I hardly know what to think."

"I hear that you are to paint Cardinal Antonelli's portrait," said
Giovanni. "Perhaps his Eminence will help you to decide."

"Yes; they say he is the cleverest man in Europe."

"In that opinion they--whoever they may be--are mistaken," replied
Giovanni. "But he is a man of immense intellect, nevertheless."

"I am not sure whether I will paint his portrait after all," said
Gouache.

"You do not wish to be persuaded?"

"No. My own ideas please me very well for the present. I would not
exchange them for those of any one else."

"May I ask what those ideas are?" inquired Giovanni, with a show of
interest.

"I am a republican," answered Gouache, quietly. "I am also a good
Catholic."

"Then you are yourself much more paradoxical than the whole of our Roman
society put together," answered Giovanni, with a dry laugh.

"Perhaps. There comes the most beautiful woman in the world."

It was nearly twelve o'clock when Corona arrived, old Astrardente
sauntering jauntily by her side, his face arranged with more than usual
care, and his glossy wig curled cunningly to represent nature. He was
said to possess a number of wigs of different lengths, which he wore in