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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！〃
End