"Father Ignatius? Haven't you mentioned his name once before?"
"Yes, it was he who commissioned me to paint my unfortunate Madonna," replied the artist, glancing at the picture above his head.
"What sort of a person is this Father Ignatius?" I asked of Angelo, who seemed surprised at my addressing him, as well he might; it was so rarely I did so. "I saw a priest just now with a very remarkable type of head, quite like an antique Roman's—bald, aquiline nose, keen grey eyes, erect, proud——"
"Yes, that was Father Ignatius.
"A high dignitary of this cathedral, I suppose?" I remarked.
"The very highest, save the bishop, whom he quite eclipses by his vigorous personality—supersedes, in point of fact, for the bishop prefers to live at Campo, and leaves the entire control of Church affairs to Father Ignatius."
"I see. The bishop is le roi fainéant, and Father Ignatius mayor of the palace."
"Just so. Yet despite his love of power he is a good man, and every one in Rivoli loves him. He was a second father to me in my boyhood. It was he who first directed and encouraged me in the study of painting, but of late he has looked with disapproval on my art."
"What! After your brilliant success?" cried Daphne. "He ought to be proud of his protégé."
"He is vexed because I have turned from the mediæval school with its 'Madonnas,' 'Pietas,' and 'Ecce Homos,' to seek inspiration from the pages of classic history. He thinks that whatever talent a man has should be consecrated to the service of the Church."