"Pon-Pon is Signor Varillo's model," he said curtly, "I thought you were aware of it. She appears in nearly all his pictures."
Angela breathed again.
"Oh, is that all!" she murmured, and laughed.
Fontenelle opened his eyes a little, amazed at her indifference. What a confiding, unsuspecting creature was this "woman of genius"! This time, however, he was discreet, and kept his thoughts to himself.
"That is all," he said, "But . . . artists have been known to admire their models in more ways than one."
"Yes," said Angela tranquilly, "But Florian is entirely different to most men."
The Marquis was moved to smile, but did not. He merely bowed with a deep and reverential courtesy.
"You have reason to know him best," he said, "and no doubt he deserves your entire confidence. For me—I willingly confess myself a vaurien—but I assure you I am not as bad as I seem. Your friend Sylvie is safe from me."
Angela's eyes lightened,—her mind was greatly relieved.
"You will leave her to herself—" she began.