“I have almost enough curiosity to get into your cab and go with you.”

“Do, mother.”  There was not much enthusiasm in the answer.

Corona looked at him, smiled, and shook her head.

“Foolish boy!  Did you think I was in earnest?  I should only spoil your amusement in the studio, and the lady would see that I had come to inspect her.  Two good reasons—­but the first is the better, dear.  Go—­do not keep them waiting.”

“Will you not take my cab?  I can get another.”

“No.  I am in no hurry.  Good-bye.”

And nodding to him with an affectionate smile, Corona passed on, leaving Orsino free at last to carry the skin to its destination.

When he entered the studio he found Madame d’Aragona absorbed in the contemplation of a piece of old tapestry which hung opposite to her, while Gouache was drawing in a tiny Hercules, high up in the right hand corner of the picture, as he had proposed.  The conversation seemed to have languished, and Orsino was immediately conscious that the atmosphere had changed since he had left.  He unrolled the skin as he entered, and Madame d’Aragona looked at it critically.  She saw that the tawny colours would become her in the portrait and her expression grew more animated.

“It is really very good of you,” she said, with a grateful glance.

“I have a disappointment in store for you,” answered Orsino.  “My father says that Hercules wore a lion’s skin.  He is quite right, I remember all about it.”

“Of course,” said Gouache.  “How could we make such a mistake!”

He dropped the bit of chalk he held and looked at Madame d’Aragona.

“What difference does it make?” asked the latter.  “A lion—­a tiger!  I am sure they are very much alike.”

“After all, it is a tiresome idea,” said the painter.  “You will be much better in the damask cloak.  Besides, with the lion’s skin you should have the club—­imagine a club in your hands!  And Hercules should be spinning at your feet—­a man in a black coat and a high collar, with a distaff!  It is an absurd idea.”

“You should not call my ideas absurd and tiresome.  It is not civil.”

“I thought it had been mine,” observed Gouache.

“Not at all.  I thought of it—­it was quite original.”

Gouache laughed a little and looked at Orsino as though asking his opinion.

“Madame is right,” said the latter.  “She suggested the whole idea—­by having yellow eyes.”

“You see, Gouache.  I told you so.  The Prince takes my view.  What will you do?”

“Whatever you command—­”

“But I do not want to be ridiculous—­”

“I do not see—­”

“And yet I must have the tiger.”

“I am ready.”

“Doubtless—­but you must think of another subject, with a tiger in it.”

“Nothing easier.  Noble Roman damsel—­Colosseum—­tiger about to spring—­rose—­”