“That will I,” said he, with an inhuman laugh. “And when the work is completed, and you have faithfully stood by me, then, signora, you may be sure of the gratitude of the empress. Catharine is the exalted protectress of the muses, and in the fulness of her grace she will not forget the poetess Corilla. You may expect an imperial reward.”
“And I shall gratefully receive it,” said Corilla, with a smile. “A poetess is always poor and in want of assistance. The muses lavish upon their votaries all joys but those of wealth.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Corilla, when the count had left her, “I shall in the end obtain all I desire. I shall not only be crowned with fame, but blessed with wealth, which is a blessing almost equal to that of fame! Money has already founded many a reputation, but not always has fame attracted money to itself! I shall be rich as well as famous!”
“That you already are!” exclaimed the Cardinal Francesco Albani, who unremarked had just entered the room.
“I am not,” said she, with vehemence, “for they refuse me the prize of fame! Have you been with the pope, your eminence, and what did he say?”
“I come directly from him.”
“Well, and what says he?”
“What he always says to me—no!”
Corilla stamped her feet violently, and her eyes flashed lightnings.
“How beautiful you are now!” tenderly remarked the cardinal, throwing an arm around her.