Angela turned her wistful looks upon him, and essayed a poor little ghost of a smile. Very gently Cyrillon advanced and sat down beside her,—and with equal gentleness, the Princesse D'Agramont withdrew. Cyrillon's heart beat fast; if he could have lifted that frail little form of a woman into his arms and kissed away the sorrow consuming it, he would have been happy,—but his mission was that of a friend, not lover, and his own emotions made it hard for him to begin. At last he spoke
"When are you going to make up your mind to get well, dear friend?"
She looked at him piteously.
"Make up my mind to get well? I shall never be well again!"
"You will if you resolve to be," said Cyrillon. "It rests with you!"
She was silent.
"Have you heard the latest news from Rome?" he asked after a pause.
She made a faint sign in the negative.
Cyrillon smiled.
"The Church has with all due solemnity anathematized your picture as an inspiration of the Evil One! But it is better that it should be so anathematized than that it should be reported as not your own work. Between two lies, the emissaries of the Vatican have chosen the one least dangerous to themselves."