"It is a portrait," I replied. "It is a product of Vien's genius. But
that great painter never saw the original, and your admiration will be
modified somewhat perhaps, when I tell you that this study was made
from a statue of a woman."
"But who is it?"
I hesitated.
"I insist upon knowing," she added earnestly.
"I believe," I said, "that this _Adonis_ represents a--a relative of
Madame de Lanty."
I had the chagrin of seeing that she was lost in contemplation of that
figure. She sat down in silence, and I seated myself beside her and
took her hand without her noticing it. Forgotten for a portrait! At
that moment we heard in the silence a woman's footstep and the faint
rustling of a dress. We saw the youthful Marianina enter the boudoir,
even more resplendent by reason of her grace and her fresh costume;
she was walking slowly and leading with motherly care, with a
daughter's solicitude, the spectre in human attire, who had driven us
from the music-room; as she led him, she watched with some anxiety the
slow movement of his feeble feet. They walked painfully across the
boudoir to a door hidden in the hangings. Marianina knocked softly.
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