“That does not matter!  While she is silent, no one dare accuse him.  What a marvellous spirit of patience and forgiveness she has!”

“Angela is like her name—­an angel!” declared Sylvie impulsively, the tears springing to her eyes—­“I could almost worship her, when I see her there in her sickroom, looking so white and frail and sad,—­ quiet and patient—­thanking us all for every little service done—­ and never once mentioning the name of Florian—­the man she loved so passionately.  Sometimes the dear old Cardinal sits beside her and talks—­sometimes her father,—­Manuel is nearly always with her, and she is quite easy and content, one would almost say happy when he is there, he is so very gentle with her.  But you can see through it all the awful sorrow that weighs upon her heart,—­you can see she has lost something she can never find again,—­her eyes look so wistful—­ her smile is so sad—­poor Angela!”

Aubrey was silent a moment.  “What of the Princesse D’Agramont?”

“Oh, she is simply a treasure!” said Sylvie enthusiastically—­“She and my dear old Bozier are never weary in well-doing!  As soon as Angela can be moved, the Princesse wants to take her back to Paris,- -because then Rome can be allowed to pour into her studio to see her great picture.”

“What does Angela say to that?”

“Angela seems resigned to anything!” answered Sylvie.  “The only wish she ever expresses is that Manuel should not leave her.”

“There is something wonderful about that boy,” said Aubrey slowly—­ “From the first time I saw him he impressed me with a sense of something altogether beyond his mere appearance.  He is a child—­yet not a child—­and I have often felt that he commands me without my realising that I am so commanded.”

“Aubrey!  How strange!”

“Yes, it is strange!—­” and Aubrey’s eyes grew graver with the intensity of his thought—­“There is some secret—­but—­” he broke off with a puzzled air—­“I cannot explain it, so it is no use thinking about it!  I went to Varillo’s studio yesterday and asked if there had been any news of him—­but there was none.  I wonder where the brute has gone!”

“It would be well if he had made exit out of the world altogether,” said Sylvie—­“But he is too vain of himself for that!  However, his absence creates suspicion—­and even if Angela does not speak, people will guess for themselves what she does not say.  He will never dare to show himself in Rome!”

Their conversation was abruptly terminated here by the entrance of Madame Bozier with a quantity of fresh flowers which she had been out to purchase, for Sylvie to take as usual on her morning visit to her suffering friend; and Aubrey took his leave, promising to return later in the afternoon, after Monsignor Gherardi had been and gone.