"It would be well if he had made exit out of the world altogether," said Sylvie—"But he is too vain of himself for that! However, his absence creates suspicion—and even if Angela does not speak, people will guess for themselves what she does not say. He will never dare to show himself in Rome!"
Their conversation was abruptly terminated here by the entrance of Madame Bozier with a quantity of fresh flowers which she had been out to purchase, for Sylvie to take as usual on her morning visit to her suffering friend; and Aubrey took his leave, promising to return later in the afternoon, after Monsignor Gherardi had been and gone.
But he had his own ideas on the subject of Gherardi's visit to his fair betrothed,—ideas which he kept to himself, for if his surmises were correct, now was the time to put Sylvie's character to the test. He did not doubt her stability in the very least, but he could never quite get away from her mignonne child-like appearance of woman, to the contemplation of the spirit behind the pretty exterior. Her beauty was so riante, so dazzling, so dainty, that it seemed to fire the very air as a sunbeam fires it,—and there was no room for any more serious consideration than that of purely feminine charm. Walking dreamily, almost unseeingly through the streets, he thought again and yet again of the sweet face, the rippling hair, the laughing yet tender eyes, the sunny smile. Behind that beautiful picture or earth-phantom of womanhood, is there that sword of flame, the soul?—the soul that will sweep through shams, and come out as bright and glittering at the end of the fight as at the beginning?—he mused;—or is it not almost too much to expect of a mere woman that she can contend against the anger of a Church?
He was still thinking on this subject, when someone walking quickly came face to face with him, and said—
"Aubrey!" He started and stared,—then uttered a cry of pleasure.
"Gys Grandit!"
The two men clasped each other's hands in a warm, strong grasp—and for a moment neither could speak.
"My dear fellow!" said Aubrey at last—"This is indeed an unexpected meeting! How glad I am to see you! When did you arrive in Rome?"
"This morning only," said Cyrillon, recovering his speech and his equanimity together—"And as soon as I arrived, I found that my hopes had not betrayed me—she is not dead!"
"She?" Aubrey started—"My dear Grandit! Or rather I must call you Vergniaud now—who is the triumphant 'she' that has brought you thus post haste to Rome?"