“Like enough, wench. Now silence, all, and let me think. He pestered me to write, and I promised; so mine honour is engaged. What lie shall I tell the Gerardo to tell the fool?” and she turned her head away from them and fell into deep thought, with her noble chin resting on her white hand, half clenched.
She was so lovely and statuesque, and looked so inspired with thoughts celestial, as she sat thus, impregnating herself with mendacity, that Gerard forgot all, except art, and proceeded eagerly to transfer that exquisite profile to paper.
He had very nearly finished when the fair statue turned brusquely round and looked at him.
“Nay, Signora,” said he, a little peevishly; “for Heaven's sake change not your posture—'twas perfect. See, you are nearly finished.”
All eyes were instantly on the work, and all tongues active.
“How like! and done in a minute: nay, methinks her highness's chin is not quite so.”
“Oh, a touch will make that right.”
“What a pity 'tis not coloured. I'm all for colours. Hang black and white! And her highness hath such a lovely skin. Take away her skin, and half her beauty is lost.”
“Peace. Can you colour, Ser Gerardo?”
“Ay, signorina. I am a poor hand at oils; there shines my friend Pietro; but in this small way I can tint you to the life, if you have time to waste on such vanity.”