“Let me give you some wine,” said she, bending down to hand him the glass; “you have over-fatigued yourself. The Faun is by your hand, is it not?”
He nodded a slow assent.
“Whence did you derive that knowledge of ancient art?” said she, eagerly. “Your figure has the light elasticity of the classic models, and yet nothing strained or exaggerated in attitude. Have you studied at Rome?”
“I could do better now,” said the youth, as, rising on his elbow, he strained his eyes to examine her. “I could achieve a real success.”
A deep flush covered her face at these words, so palpably alluding to herself, and she tried to repeat her question.
“No,” said he, “I cannot say I have ever studied: all that I have done is full of faults; but I feel the spring of better things within me. Tell me, is this your home?”
“Yes,” said she, smiling faintly. “I live in the villa here with my aunt. She has purchased your statue, and wishes you to repair it, and then to engage in some other work for her. Let me assist you to rise; you seem very weak.”
“I am weak, and weary too,” said he, staggering to a seat. “I have overworked myself, perhaps,—I scarcely know. Do not take away your hand.”
“And you are, then, the Sebastian Greppi of whom Carrara is so proud?”
“They call me Sebastian Greppi; but I never heard that my name was spoken of with any honor.”