"I found this a difficult subject also, and it was not until yesterday evening that I felt able to begin on it."
Then, with a hand that trembled visibly, she took from the wall the portrait of her father, and offering it to the Minister, she said:
"Some one told me a story of duplicity and treachery—it was about this poor old gentleman, Baron—and then I knew what sort of person it was who betrayed his friend and master for thirty pieces of silver, and listened to the hypocrisy, and flattery, and lying of the miserable group of parasites who crowded round him because he was a traitor, and because he kept the purse."
With that she threw off the damp cloth, and revealed the clay model of a head. The face was unmistakable, but it expressed every baseness—cunning, arrogance, cruelty, and sensuality.
The silence was freezing, and the company began to turn away, and to mutter among themselves, in order to cover their confusion. "It's the Baron!" "No?" "Yes." "Disgraceful!" "Disgusting!" "Shocking!" "A scarecrow!"
Roma watched them for a moment, and then said: "You don't like my Judas? Neither do I. You're right—it is disgusting."
And taking up in both hands a piece of thin wire, she cut the clay across, and the upper part of it fell face downward with a thud on to the floor.
The Princess, who stood by the side of the Baron, offered him her sympathy, and he answered in his icy smile:
"But these artists are all slightly insane, you know. That is an evil which must be patiently endured, without noticing too much the ludicrous side of it."
Then, stepping up to Roma, and handing back the portrait, the Baron said, with a slight frown: