“Leave me out of it, if you please!” interrupted Prince Pietro, “I have nothing whatever to do with it!  Angela works with a free hand; none of us have seen what she is doing.”

“Not even you, Signor Varillo?” enquired Gherardi affably.

“Oh, I?” laughed Florian carelessly, “No indeed!  I have not the least idea of the subject or the treatment!”

“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.  As he disappeared the Cardinal rose from his chair and moving somewhat feebly, prepared to return to his own apartments.

“Dearest uncle, will you not stay with us to-night?  Or are you too tired?” asked Angela as she came to his side.

He raised her sweet face between his two wrinkled hands and looked at her long and earnestly.  “Dear child!” he said, “Dear brave little child!  For you must always be nothing more than a child to me,—­tell me, are you sure you are moved by the right spirit in the painting of your picture?”

“I think so!” answered Angela gently, “Indeed, indeed, I think so!  I know that according to the teaching of our Master Christ, it is a true spirit!”

Slowly the Cardinal released her, and slowly and with impressive earnestness traced the Cross on her fair brows.

“God bless you!” he said, “And God help you too!  For if you work by ‘the Spirit of Truth, the Comforter’, remember it is the same Spirit which our Lord tells us ’the world cannot receive because it seeth Him not, neither knoweth Him.’  And to testify of a Spirit which the world cannot receive makes the world very hard to you!”

And with these words he gently leaned on the arm she proffered and left the studio with her, the rich glow and voluminous folds of his scarlet robes contrasting vividly with the simple black gown which Angela wore without other adornment than a Niphetos rose to relieve its sombreness.  As she went with her uncle she looked over her shoulder and smiled an adieu to Florian,—­he, in his turn lightly kissed his hand to her, and then addressed Prince Pietro, who, with the care of a man to whom expense is a consideration, was putting out some of the tall lamps that had illumined the dusk of the late afternoon.

“The good Cardinal is surely breaking up,” he said carelessly, “He looks extremely frail!”

“Young men sometimes break up before old ones!” returned the Prince drily, “Felix is strong enough yet.  You dine with us to-night?”

“If you permit—­” said Varillo, with a graceful salutation.

“Oh, my permission does not matter’” said Sovrani eyeing him narrowly, “Whatever gives pleasure to Angela must needs please me.  She is all that is left to me now in an exceedingly dull world.  A riverderci!  At eight we dine.”