"Very pretty--" still the same monotone.
"And you love her!" It was up to the hilt now.
"She is the only thing I have left to love, Monsieur," he answered,
calmly.
Then, bending over me, he added:
"Monsieur, I do not think I am mistaken. Were you not painting along the
river this morning?"
"Yes."
"And a little child stood beside you while you worked?" Something in his
voice as he spoke made me raise my head. To my intense amazement the
listless eyes were alight with a tenderness that seemed to permeate his
whole being, and a smile of infinite sweetness was playing about his
mouth--the smile of the old saint--the Ribera of the Prado!
"Yes, of course; the one playing with the priest," I answered, quickly.
"But--"
"No; that was me, Monsieur. I have often been taken for a priest,
especially when I am off duty. It is the smooth face that misled you--"
and he passed his hand over his cheeks and chin.
"You the priest!" This came as a distinct surprise. "Ah, yes, I do see
the resemblance now.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154