Angela looked at him still more attentively; and the fascination of his presence became intensified.  She would have liked to continue the conversation, but her uncle was fatigued by his journey, and expressed the desire for an hour’s rest.  She therefore summoned a servant to show him to the rooms prepared for his reception, whither he went, Manuel attending him,—­and when, after a little while, Angela followed to see that all was arranged suitably for his comfort, she found that he had retired to his bed-chamber, and that just outside his door in a little ante-room adjoining, his “waif and stray” was seated, reading.  There was something indescribable about the boy even in this reposeful attitude of study,—­and Angela observed him for a minute or two, herself unseen.  His face reminded her of one of Fra Angelico’s seraphs,—­the same broad brow, deep eyes and sensitive lips, which seemed to suggest the utterance of wondrous speech or melodious song,—­the same golden hair swept back in rich clusters,—­the same eager, inspired, yet controlled expression.  A curious fluttering of her heart disturbed the girl as she looked—­an indefinable dread—­a kind of wonder, that almost touched on superstitious awe.  Manuel himself, apparently unconscious of her observation, went on reading,—­his whole attitude expressing that he was guarding the door to deter anyone from breaking in upon the Cardinal’s rest, and Angela at last turned away reluctantly, questioning herself as to the cause of the strange uneasiness which thrilled her mind.

“It is foolish, of course,”—­she murmured, “but I feel just as if there were a supernatural presence in the house, . . . however,—­I always do have that impression with Uncle Felix, for he is so good and noble-minded,—­almost a saint, as everyone says—­but to-day there is something else—­something quite unusual—­”

She re-entered the drawing-room, moving slowly with an abstracted air, and did not at once perceive a visitor in the room,—­a portly person in clerical dress, with a somewhat large head and strongly marked features,—­a notable character of the time in Paris, known as the Abbe Vergniaud.  He had seated himself in a low fauteuil, and was turning over the pages of the month’s “Revue de Deux Mondes”, humming a little tune under his breath as he did so,—­but he rose when he saw Angela, and advanced smilingly to greet her as she stopped short, with a little startled exclamation of surprise at the sight of him.

“Forgive me” he said, with an expressively apologetic gesture,—­ “Have I come at an inopportune moment?  I saw your uncle arrive, and I was extremely anxious to see him on a little confidential matter—­ I ventured to persuade your servant to let me enter—­”

“No apologies are necessary, Monsieur l’Abbe” said Angela, quickly, “My uncle Felix is indeed here, but he is tired with his journey and is resting—­”

“Yes, I understand!” And Monsieur l’Abbe, showing no intention to take his leave on account of the Cardinal’s non-presence, bowed low over the extended hand of “the Sovrani” as she was sometimes called in the world of art, where her name was a bone for envious dogs-in-the-manger to fight over—­“But if I might wait a little while—­”