"Nothing," she said, "would please her better;" and as the Countess Rosali stood near, the prince included her in the invitation.
"Certainly; I never tire of the 'Guinevere,' never weary of the artist's triumph, for he is one of the most valued of my friends."
Prince di Borgesi smiled, thinking how much of the fair coquette's admiration went to the artist's talent, and how much to his handsome face.
They entered the long gallery, where some of the finest pictures in Italy were hung. The prince led the ladies to the southern end. Valentine saw before her a magnificent painting—tall forest trees, whose thick branches were interwoven, every green leaf distinct and clear; she saw the mellow light that fell through them, the milk-white palfrey and the jeweled harness, the handsome knight who rode near; and then she saw her own face, bright, smiling, glowing with beauty, bright in innocence, sweet in purity. Valentine stared in astonishment, and her companion smiled.
"There can be no doubt about the resemblance," said the countess. "The artist has made you Queen Guinevere, Miss Charteris."
"Yes," said Valentine, wonderingly; "it is my own face. How came it there? Who is the artist?"
"His name is Ronald Thorne," replied the countess. "There is quite a romance about him."
The countess saw Miss Charteris grow pale and silent.
"Have you ever seen him?" inquired the countess. "Do you know him?"
"Yes," said Valentine, "my family and his have been on intimate terms for years. I knew that he was in Italy with his wife."