“Call you this vanity? And for time, it hangs on me like lead. Send for your colours now—quick, this moment—for love of all the saints.”
“Nay, signorina, I must prepare them. I could come at the same time.”
“So be it. And you, Floretta, see that he be admitted at all hours. Alack! Leave my head! leave my head!”
“Forgive me, Signora; I thought to prepare it at home to receive the colours. But I will leave it. And now let us despatch the letter.”
“What letter?”
“To the Signor Orsini.”
“And shall I waste my time on such vanity as writing letters—and to that empty creature, to whom I am as indifferent as the moon? Nay, not indifferent, for I have just discovered my real sentiments. I hate him and despise him. Girls, I here forbid you once for all to mention that signor's name to me again; else I'll whip you till the blood comes. You know how I can lay on when I'm roused.”
“We do. We do.”
“Then provoke me not to it;” and her eye flashed daggers, and she turned to Gerard all instantaneous honey. “Addio, il Gerardo.” And Gerard bowed himself out of this velvet tiger's den.
He came next day and coloured her; and next he was set to make a portrait of her on a large scale; and then a full-length figure; and he was obliged to set apart two hours in the afternoon, for drawing and painting this princess, whose beauty and vanity were prodigious, and candidates for a portrait of her numerous. Here the thriving Gerard found a new and fruitful source of income.