in their fixed glance!...
Did she divine that which she could not, however, know, that her fate was
approaching with the visitor who entered, and who, having left the studio
fifteen minutes before, had to justify his return by an excuse.

"It is I," said he. "I forgot to ask you, Lincoln, if you wish to buy
Ardea's three drawings at the price they offer."

"Why did you not tell me of it yesterday, my little Linco?" interrupted
the Countess. "I saw Peppino again this morning.... I would have from him
his lowest figure."

"That would only be lacking," replied Maitland, laughing his large laugh.
"He does not acknowledge those drawings, dear dogaresse.... They are a
part of the series of trinkets he carefully subtracted from his
creditor's inventory and put in different places. There are some at seven
or eight antiquaries', and we may expect that for the next ten years all
the cockneys of my country will be allured by this phrase, 'This is from
the Palais Castagna. I have it by a little arrangement.'"

His eyes sparkled as he imitated one of the most celebrated bric-a-brac
dealers in Rome, with the incomparable art of imitation which
distinguishes all the old habitues of Parisian studios.

"At present these three drawings are at an antiquary's of Babuino, and
very authentic."

"Except when they are represented as Vincis," said Florent, "when
Leonardo was left-handed, and their hatchings are made from left to
right."

"And you think Ardea would not agree with me in it?" resumed the
Countess.

"Not even with you," said the painter. "He had the assurance last night,
when I mentioned them before him, to ask me the address in order to go to
see them."

"How did you learn their production?" questioned Madame Steno.

"Ask him," said Maitland, pointing to Chapron with the end of his brush.
"When there is a question of enriching his old Maitland's collection, he
becomes more of a merchant than the merchants themselves. They tell him
all.... Vinci or no Vinci, it is the pure Lombard style. Buy them. I want
them."

"I will go, then," replied Florent. "Countess. . . . Contessina."

He bowed to Madame Steno and her daughter. The mother bestowed upon him
her pleasantest smile. She was not one of those mistresses to whom their
lovers' intimate friends are always enemies. On the contrary, she
enveloped them in the abundant and blissful sympathy which love awoke in
her. Besides, she was too cunning not to feel that Florent a