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clasping of her hands。



〃Poor; dear; blessed gentleman;〃 she murmured; 〃is he dying?〃



〃Possibly。  How long has he been thus?〃



〃Since a certain night he passed ten days ago。  I came up in the

morning to make his poor bed; and found him sitting up in his clothes

before that great canvas he keeps there。  Poor; dear; strange man; he

says his prayers to it!  He had not been to bed; nor since then;

properly!  What has happened to him?  Has he found out about the

Serafina?〃 she whispered; with a glittering eye and a toothless grin。



〃Prove at least that one old woman can be faithful;〃 I said; 〃and

watch him well till I come back。〃  My return was delayed; through the

absence of the English physician; who was away on a round of visits;

and whom I vainly pursued from house to house before I overtook him。

I brought him to Theobald's bedside none too soon。  A violent fever

had seized our patient; and the case was evidently grave。  A couple

of hours later I knew that he had brain fever。  From this moment I

was with him constantly; but I am far from wishing to describe his

illness。  Excessively painful to witness; it was happily brief。  Life

burned out in delirium。  One night in particular that I passed at his

pillow; listening to his wild snatches of regret; of aspiration; of

rapture and awe at the phantasmal pictures with which his brain

seemed to swarm; comes back to my memory now like some stray page

from a lost masterpiece of tragedy。  Before a week was over we had

buried him in the little Protestant cemetery on the way to Fiesole。

The Signora Serafina; whom I had caused to be informed of his

illness; had come in person; I was told; to inquire about its

progress; but she was absent from his funeral; which was attended by

but a scanty concourse of mourners。  Half a dozen old Florentine

sojourners; in spite of the prolonged estrangement which had preceded

his death; had felt the kindly impulse to honour his grave。  Among

them was my friend Mrs。 Coventry; whom I found; on my departure;

waiting in her carriage at the gate of the cemetery。



〃Well;〃 she said; relieving at last with a significant smile the

solemnity of our immediate greeting; 〃and the great Madonna?  Have

you seen her; after all?〃



〃I have seen her;〃 I said; 〃she is mineby bequest。  But I shall

never show her to you。〃



〃And why not; pray?〃



〃My dear Mrs。 Coventry; you would not understand her!〃



〃Upon my word; you are polite。〃



〃Excuse me; I am sad and vexed and bitter。〃  And with reprehensible

rudeness I marched away。  I was excessively impatient to leave

Florence; my friend's dark spirit seemed diffused through all things。

I had packed my trunk to start for Rome that night; and meanwhile; to

beguile my unrest; I aimlessly paced the streets。  Chance led me at

last to the church of San Lorenzo。  Remembering poor Theobald's

phrase about Michael Angelo〃He did his best at a venture〃I went

in and turned my steps to the chapel of the tombs。  Viewing in

sadness the sadness of its immortal treasures; I fancied; while I

stood there; that they needed no ampler commentary than these simple

words。  As I passed through the church again to leave it; a woman;

turning away from one of the side altars; met me face to face。  The

black shawl depending from her head draped picturesquely the handsome

visage of Madonna Serafina。  She stopped as she recognised me; and I

saw that she wished to speak。  Her eye was bright; and her ample

bosom heaved in a way that seemed to portend a certain sharpness of

reproach。  But the expression of my own face; apparently; drew the

sting from her resentment; and she addressed me in a tone in which

bitterness was tempered by a sort of dogged resignation。  〃I know it

was you; now; that separated us;〃 she said。  〃It was a pity he ever

brought you to see me!  Of course; you couldn't think of me as he

did。  Well; the Lord gave him; the Lord has taken him。  I have just

paid for a nine days' mass for his soul。  And I can tell you this;

signoreI never deceived him。  Who put it into his head that I was

made to live on holy thoughts and fine phrases?  It was his own

fancy; and it pleased him to think so。Did he suffer much?〃 she

added more softly; after a pause。



〃His sufferings were great; but they were short。〃



〃And did he speak of me?〃  She had hesitated and dropped her eyes;

she raised them with her question; and revealed in their sombre

stillness a gleam of feminine confidence which; for the moment;

revived and illumined her beauty。  Poor Theobald!  Whatever name he

had given his passion; it was still her fine eyes that had charmed

him。



〃Be contented; madam;〃 I answered; gravely。



She dropped her eyes again and was silent。  Then exhaling a full rich

sigh; as she gathered her shawl together〃He was a magnificent

genius!〃



I bowed; and we separated。



Passing through a narrow side street on my way back to my hotel; I

perceived above a doorway a sign which it seemed to me I had read

before。  I suddenly remembered that it was identical with the

superscription of a card that I had carried for an hour in my

waistcoat pocket。  On the threshold stood the ingenious artist whose

claims to public favour were thus distinctly signalised; smoking a

pipe in the evening air; and giving the finishing polish with a bit

of rag to one of his inimitable 〃combinations。〃  I caught the

expressive curl of a couple of tails。  He recognised me; removed his

little red cap with a most obsequious bow; and motioned me to enter

his studio。  I returned his salute and passed on; vexed with the

apparition。  For a week afterwards; whenever I was seized among the

ruins of triumphant Rome with some peculiarly poignant memory of

Theobald's transcendent illusions and deplorable failure; I seemed to

hear a fantastic; impertinent murmur; 〃Cats and monkeys; monkeys and

cats; all human life there!〃











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