ng
old. I shall not be here long. And I am sorry for it, for thy sake. They
will go and burn thee when I am gone. Art far more a heretic than Huss,
whom I saw burned with these eyes; and oh, he died like a martyr."

"Ay, your holiness; but I believe in the Pope; and Huss did not."

"Fox! They will not burn thee; wood is too dear. Adieu, old playmate;
adieu, young gentlemen; an old man's blessing be on you."

That afternoon the Pope's secretary brought Gerard a little bag: in it
were several gold pieces.

He added them to his store.

Margaret seemed nearer and nearer.

For some time past, too, it appeared as if the fairies had watched over
him. Baskets of choice provisions and fruits were brought to his door by
porters, who knew not who had employed them, or affected ignorance; and
one day came a jewel in a letter, but no words.

CHAPTER LXI

The Princess Claelia ordered a full-length portrait of herself. Gerard
advised her to employ his friend Pietro Vanucci.

But she declined. "'Twill be time to put a slight on the Gerardo, when
his work discontents me." Then Gerard, who knew he was an excellent
draughtsman, but not so good a colourist, begged her to stand to him
as a Roman statue. He showed her how closely he could mimic marble
on paper. She consented at first; but demurred when this enthusiast
explained to her that she must wear the tunic, toga, and sandals of the
ancients.

"Why, I had as lieve be presented in my smock," said she, with mediaeval
frankness.

"Alack! signorina," said Gerard, "you have surely never noted the
ancient habit; so free, so ample, so simple, yet so noble; and most
becoming your highness, to whom Heaven hath given the Roman features,
and eke a shapely arm and hand, his in modern guise."

"What, can you flatter, like the rest, Gerardo? Well, give me time to
think on't. Come o' Saturday, and then I will say ay or nay."

The respite thus gained was passed in making the tunic and toga, etc.,
and trying them on in her chamber, to see whether they suited her style
of beauty well enough to compensate their being a thousand years out of
date.

Gerard, hurrying along to this interview, was suddenly arrested, and
rooted to earth at a shop window.

His quick eye had discerned in that window a copy of Lactantius lying
open. "That is fairly writ, anyway," thought he.

He eyed it a moment more with all his eyes.

It was not written at all. It was printed.

Gerard groaned.

"I