She shook her head, and the smile passed from her eyes and lips, leaving her face very sorrowful.
"I must work," she said. "Work brings content—if it does not insure joy." Her gaze involuntarily wandered to her great picture, "The Coming of Christ," which now, unveiled in all its splendour, occupied one end of her studio, filling it with a marvellous colour and glow of light. "Yes, I must work! That big canvas of mine will not sell I fear! My father was right. It was a mistake"—and she sighed—"a mistake altogether,—in more ways than one! And what is the use of painting a picture for the world if there is no chance to let the world see it?"
Prince Pietro looked at her benevolently.
"Your father was right, you think? Well, Angela mia, I think I had better be the first to own that your father was wrong! The picture is already sold;—that is if you consent to sell it!"
Angela turned very white. "If I consent to sell it? Sell it—to whom?"
Sylvie put a caressing arm around her. "Your father had the news this morning," she said, "and we all decided to tell it to you as soon as we came back from the Consulate. A wedding-surprise on our parts, Angela! You know the picture was on view for the first time yesterday to some of the critics and experts in Rome?"
Angela made a faint sign of assent. Her wistful eyes were full of wonder and anxiety.
"Well, among them was a purchaser for America—Oh, you need not look at me, my dear!—I have nothing to do with it! You shall see the letter your father received—and you shall decide; but the end of the whole matter is, Angela, that if you consent, the picture will be bought, not by any private purchaser, but by the American nation."
"The American nation!" repeated Angela. "Are you really, really sure of this?"
"Quite sure!" said Sylvie joyously. "And you must say good-bye to it and let it go across the wide ocean—out to the New World all alone with its grand and beautiful message,—unless you go with it and show the Americans something even more perfect and beautiful in yourself than the picture!—and you must be content to take twenty thousand pounds for it, and be acknowledged as the greatest painter of the age as well! This will be hard work, Angela!—but you must resign yourself!"