sh, played the part of mentor to the two young people, who talked
to each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the sufferings of
the retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, he had made
the passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man left of
his regiment. He described, in words of fire, the great disaster of
Waterloo. His voice was music itself to the Italian girl. Brought up as
a Corsican, Ginevra was, in some sense, a child of Nature; falseness
was a thing unknown to her; she gave herself up without reserve to her
impressions; she acknowledged them, or, rather, allowed them to be
seen without the affectations of petty and calculating coquetry,
characteristic of Parisian girlhood. During this day she sat more than
once with her palette in one hand, her brushes in another, without
touching a color. With her eyes fastened on the officer, and her lips
slightly apart, she listened, in the attitude of painting a stroke which
was never painted. She was not surprised to see such softness in the
eyes of the young man, for she felt that her own were soft in spite
of her will to keep them stern and calm. After periods like this she
painted diligently, without raising her head, for he was there, near
her, watching her work. The first time he sat down beside her to
contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of some emotion, after a
long pause:--

"Does it amuse you to see me paint?"

That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it was
agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see each
other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to inform him
by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon.

The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the
class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover,
a young man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed
himself in the garret beyond the studio.

"You, who take her part," she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, "watch her
carefully, and you will see how she spends her time."

Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They
listened to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she
supposed that no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively
upon her. Thus enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly
the emotions that crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,--her
gestures, the peculiar tones in which she hum