"Thou art welcome to paint me in that character another time," he said. "Meanwhile, I will work on my St. Catherine's robe."
And he seated himself on a low stool before the easel, Graziosa placing herself on the floor at his feet.
Agnolo scrutinized the St. Michael once more, but finally drew the curtain again along the rod, for his day's work was over. Settling himself in the window-seat, for a while he contentedly watched the other two; but not for long could the little painter keep his tongue still, and Ambrogio's visits were a fine opportunity for voluble talk, for the young man lived in Como, and was he not now shut up in the convent of St. Joseph, five miles away, painting an altar-piece for avaricious monks who grudged him even these occasional visits into Milan? What could he know of the city's news?
"We had a fine procession this morning, Ambrogio," he said. "The Duke of Orleans' retinue went by, a gay sight. We hoped to see the Duke ride out to meet him, but my lord Gian Visconti keeps himself close. For all we live so near the gate, I have never seen him, or only in his helmet; and yet 'tis said he cares a good deal for sculpture and for painting, and will make a fine thing of this grand new church he's building. I would love to see what a tyrant and a painter both may look like."
Ambrogio, bending over his painting, returned no answer; but that made small difference to the talkative little man, who continued:
"He came not, however, so we contented ourselves with the French Prince, who is to marry the Lady Valentine. Graziosa did not care for him; I thought him well-looking enough."
"His air was not a gay one, and he seems foolish," said Graziosa; "and since he is not marrying for love, I am sorry for the Lady Valentine."
"Thou art always sorrowing for some one," said her father. "A princess never marries for love."
"Then I am glad I am no princess," smiled Graziosa, looking up at her betrothed.
Ambrogio raised her hand to his lips and kissed it in silence.