The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:—
“Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not better remain here?”
Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden emotion of master and pupil.
“You are right,” said Servin; “but really,” he added, with a forced laugh, “you will soon come to know more than I do.”
A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of the officer’s head.
“It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!” he exclaimed, with the energy of an artist.
All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, the prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra knocked over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to laugh; but she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before Amelie could get to her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin descanted on the beauty of the copy which his favorite pupil was then making, and the whole class was duped by this stratagem, except Amelie, who, slipping behind her companions, attempted to open the portfolio where she had seen Ginevra throw the sketch. But the latter took it up without a word, and placed it in front of her. The two young girls then looked at each other fixedly, in silence.
“Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places,” said Servin. “If you wish to do as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn’t be always talking fashions and balls, and trifling away your time as you do.”
When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down beside Ginevra.
“Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery rather than the others?” asked the girl, in a low voice.