"Yes, I am sure of it. Think of something."
Orsino was not pleased. He would have preferred to be thought cold and impassive.
"What can I say? The first idea was the best. Get a lion instead of a tiger—nothing is simpler."
"For my part I prefer the damask cloak and the original picture," said Gouache with decision. "All this mythology is too complicated—too Pompeian—how shall I say? Besides there is no distinct allusion. A Hercules on a bracket—anybody may have that. If you were the Marchessa di San Giacinto, for instance—oh, then everyone would laugh."
"Why? What is that?"
"She married my cousin," said Orsino. "He is an enormous giant, and they say that she has tamed him."
"Ah no! That would not do. Something else, please."
Orsino involuntarily thought of a sphynx as he looked at the massive brow, the yellow, sleepy eyes, and the heavy mouth. He wondered how the late Aranjuez had lived and what death he had died.
He offered the suggestion.
"It would be appropriate," replied Madame d'Aragona. "The Sphynx in the Desert. Rome is a desert to me."