"Canvas? Ah, that reminds me," said my uncle. "I have been very remiss in not complimenting you upon the success of your picture. We shall yet have the Pope requesting your aid in adorning the Vatican with painted frescoes. I understand that your 'Fall of Cæsar' is the picture of Paris this season."
This allusion did not seem pleasing to the artist, for a peculiar expression darkened his face for a moment, like the transient sweeping of a shadow over a sunny landscape.
"It is true," he murmured, with real or simulant modesty, "that my picture has been very much admired. It was exhibited one day; the next, my name was in all the newspapers. Like Byron I woke up one morning to find myself famous. I have realized a considerable sum of money by exhibiting the picture, and as a consequence have become courted by people who discover virtues in me now they never perceived before."
"'Give me gold, and by that rule
Who will say I am a fool?'"
murmured my uncle. "Just so. Gold is a lamp that lights up virtues that without it are unseen."
I regret to say that I did not view Angelo with any more favour for his rising reputation as an artist, and Daphne's evident delight at his success added fresh fuel to my smouldering jealousy.
"What, Mr. Vasari! Have you painted a picture that is creating a sensation at Paris? Why did you not tell of this before, papa? This is the first that Frank and I have heard of it."
It was, but it was far from being the last we were to hear of the artist's memorable masterpiece.
"Well, you see," my uncle replied apologetically, "I did not know it myself till last night, when I saw it in the Standard. You were asleep at the time, and I take it you didn't want me to call you out of bed to tell you of it."