"That is she, in that armchair in the corner."
"She is like a Botticelli," Valentini answered as they moved towards Fru Bjork, who rose to greet them. She was pleased by Valentini and delighted to see Ferrati again. Valentini drew up a chair by Ragna, on being presented, and asked her in a brusque way, what were her impressions of Italy. She felt slightly uneasy under the bold scrutiny of his eyes, but the abruptness of his manner pleased her—it was a contrast to that of Mirko! Ferrati, seeing that they both seemed interested in each other, congratulated himself on his brilliant idea.
When the men took their departure they left the most favourable impression with all the party, and the drawing lessons had been definitely arranged. They took place in Egidio's study, the girls going together, otherwise unaccompanied, as it never entered Fru Bjork's innocent mind that a chaperone might be advisable. The lessons were supplemented by visits to the galleries, and these visits opened a new world to Ragna's wondering eyes. She awoke to colour and form as with Mirko she had become aware of the life of antiquity, its fulness and beauty. Here she learned the wonders of applied imagination, of purity of vision and power in execution. Valentini led her especially to appreciate the earlier artists, Ghirlandajo, Botticelli, Pollaiuolo, Francia, Filippo and Filippino Lippi, and many were the pleasant pilgrimages taken to the various churches and galleries to see this or that example of the Master under study. The tentative charm of the Primitives had pleased Ragna, but it was the pagan spirit of Botticelli that really appealed to her, the charm of his Graces dancing their round on the flower starred grass under over-arching boughs, the nymph-like grace and free forward swing of the Flora, the wonderful sinuous outline of the Venus, light as the shell on which she stands,—all of these things, as apart from life, as truly unmoral as the flowers themselves, soothed her with the suggestion of the futility of a conventional moral standard. She found the angels of the Beato Angelico irritating; in their own way they seemed as apart from morality, as flowerlike as the nymphs, the innocence of their faces was something non-terrestrial, they were as radiant visions seen in dreams; yes that was it, they lacked the frank paganism, the pure humanity, that is the charm of Botticelli; their unsullied innocence implying a corresponding ignorance of evil, appeared to her almost an insult. How could these celestial beings, whose faces reflect the constant vision of the Crystal Sea and the Great White Throne, be fairly compared to poor mortals who bear the burthen and heat of the day? They were as incorporeal as any bodiless cherubim.
Astrid did not take much interest in these artistic pilgrimages and she soon tired of the lessons. Although unwilling to work regularly or steadily her natural aptitude soon enabled her to make pretty little sketches, in which the delicacy of colour and facility of treatment atoned to some extent for the faulty drawing. Incapable of prolonged or serious effort, she was pleased with the progress made and could see no reason for hard work. She was capricious and flighty, and Valentini, seeing her complete inability for application ceased to urge her, letting her take her own easy way, since she was so evidently satisfied with it and the results. Ragna, on the contrary, could not be satisfied with what was merely pleasing; she was both conscientious and thorough and consequently had less to show for her labours than her friend. Her drawings were almost painful in the evident struggle for exactitude, they had a grim, almost Dutch character. Her work looked "tight"—she was one who would never attain to facility of execution. Still she persevered and her work if not exactly pleasing, was interesting, and showed promise of talent.
Easter had passed with the usual quaint ceremonial of the Scoppio del Carro, and afterwards the weather grew rapidly warm—a continuous succession of soft spring days, the crown of the year in Tuscany, celebrated in earlier times with the feste del Calendi maggio. About this time Ragna began to suffer from headaches, as well as vague physical discomfort, and on several occasions was obliged to absent herself from the studio.
Egidio had been observing her closely. Something that Ferrati had said of her manner suggesting some unpleasant experience in the past, had stuck in his mind, and as he watched her, returned to him again and again.
That would explain the girl's fits of despondency, and her almost feverish application to her work. The more he observed her, the greater grew his curiosity. It must have been a love affair he decided, first because an Italian can imagine no other cause for the inexplicable in a woman's character, and then because she objected so unmistakably to their conversation ever taking a sentimental turn. She was curiously reticent too, he thought, as to her impressions of Rome, indeed it was impossible to get her to talk at any length about Rome at all. Now, Egidio was young and a Latin, and in spite of the self-control of which he boasted, it was clearly impossible that he should continue to be for so long and almost constantly in the company of a pretty girl, whose dazzlingly white skin and golden hair were to his Italian eyes as the fair fruit of some Garden of the Hesperides, without feeling the effects of it. His prudence forbade him, however, to make any advances of a compromising nature until he had assured himself of the material advantages to be obtained. To this end he availed himself of the opportunity offered on those occasions when Ragna was unable to come to the studio, by leading Astrid to talk of her friend. Astrid, nothing loath, chattered on in a light-hearted fashion, talking of their days together at the Paris Convent, of the life in Christiania, of Ragna's incomprehensible dislike of society in general and of men in particular, of Fru Boyesen,—and this interested Valentini most of all.
"Madame la tante must be rich to do all that she does for her niece," he observed.
"Oh, yes," answered Astrid carelessly. "They say she is the richest woman in Christiania, and she has always said she will leave her fortune to Ragna, as she has no children of her own."
Egidio flushed with pleasure, and to hide the gleam in his eyes stooped to pick up a brush that had fallen on the floor.