But modeling was out of the question for the present.  It must never be known that he was still capable of such an effort; it might spoil all his chances for the business in hand.  He must continue to pose as heretofore for a harmless antiquarian, a dreamer.  Nobody, save old Andrea the servant, must know the secret of his life.  Yet he was not without hopes of being able to reveal himself ere long in his true character of creator.  The day was perhaps not far distant when a pecuniary transaction between himself and his respected American friend, Mr. van Koppen, would ease the burdensome poverty of his life.  Then—­then he would return to the gold projects of his youth; to the “Eumenides,” first of all.  Light-hearted with bright expectancy, he saw the financial deal well-nigh concluded; the cheque might be in his pocket within a week; and now already he saw himself, in imagination, donning his faded frock-coat and wending his way down to the Residency to lay the foundations of his heart’s desire.  He would broach the subject with that insinuating Southern graciousness which was part and parcel of his nature; the lady’s vanity could be trusted to do the rest.  He knew of old that no woman, however chaste and winsome, can resist the temptation of sitting as model to a genuine Count—­and such a handsome old Count, into the bargain.

And now suddenly she had died—­died, it might be, only a few days too soon.  That face, that peerless face, was lost for ever to the world of art—­his ideal snatched away by the relentless hand of fate.  He mourned as only a sculptor can mourn.  Thus it came about that something stronger than himself impelled him to manifest his grief.  Despite Andrea’s respectful but insistent remonstrances as to the appalling outlay, the wreath of camellias was ordered and dispatched.  An artist’s tribute. . . .

It created both surprise and a most excellent impression.  What a gentleman he was!  Always doing the right thing.  How splendid of him.  So they reasoned, though the wiser ones added that if he had known the deceased lady a little better he might have hit upon a more sensible way of spending his money.

The fact that there was a good deal of social gossip like this, that appointments for picnics and other functions were being made, would go alone to prove the advantages of a funeral of this kind, quite apart from the universal relief experienced when the coffin was lowered into the earth, and bystanders realized that the lady was at last definitely transferred into Abraham’s bosom.

CHAPTER XXXIV