He paused in his dreamy utterance, and turned in his chair listening.  “What is that?” There was a noise of hurrying footsteps and murmuring voices,—­that sort of half-muffled confusion in a household which bodes something wrong,—­and all at once Prince Sovrani threw open the door of the Cardinal’s apartments without ceremony, crying out as he entered,—­

“Where is Angela?”

The Cardinal rose out of his chair, startled and alarmed.

“Angela?” he echoed, “She is not here!”

“Not here!” Prince Sovrani drew a sharp breath, and his face visibly paled,—­“It is very strange!  Her studio is locked at both entrances--yet the servants swear she has not passed out of the house!  Besides she never goes out without leaving word as to where she has gone and when she is coming back!”

“Her studio is locked on both sides!” repeated the Cardinal, “But that is quite easy to understand—­her picture is unveiled, and no one is to be permitted to see it until to-morrow.”

“Yes—­yes—­” said the Prince Pietro impatiently, “I know all that,—­ but where is Angela herself?  There is no sign of her anywhere!  She cannot have gone out.  Her maid tells me she was not dressed to go out.  She was in her white working gown when last seen.  Santissima Madonna!”—­and old Sovrani gave a wild gesture of despair—­“If any harm has happened to the child . . .”

“Harm?  Why what harm could happen?  What harm could happen?” said the Cardinal soothingly,—­“My dear brother, do not alarm yourself needlessly—­”

“Let us go to the studio,” interposed Manuel suddenly—­“She may not have heard you call her.”

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.  The servants had gathered on the landing, afraid of they knew not what, and one old man, the Prince’s valet, shook his head dolefully at the continued silence.

“Why not break open the door, Eccellenza?” he asked anxiously, “I know the trick of those old locks—­if the Eccellenza will permit I can push back the catch with a strong chisel.”

“Do so then,” replied his master, “I cannot wait—­there is something horrible in the atmosphere!—­something that chokes me!  Quick!  This suspense will kill me!”

The old valet hurried away, and in two or three minutes, during which time both Prince Sovrani and the Cardinal knocked and called again outside the door quite uselessly, he returned with a strong iron chisel which he forced against the lock.  For some time it resisted all efforts—­then with appalling suddenness gave way and flew back, the door bursting wide open with the shock.  For one instant the falling shadows of evening made the interior of the room too dim to see distinctly—­there was a confused blur of objects,—­ the carved summit of a great easel,—­a gold picture-frame shining round a wonderful mass of colouring on canvas—­then gradually they discerned the outline of a small figure lying prone at the foot of the easel, stiff and motionless.  With a dreadful cry of despair Sovrani dashed into the room.