"Beethoven was not at work when he made the remark," observed Orsino,
defending himself.
"Nor am I," said Gouache, taking up his brushes again. "If you will
resume the pose--so--thoughtful but bold--imagine that you are already
an ancestor contemplating posterity from the height of a nobler age--you
understand. Try and look as if you were already framed and hanging in
the Saracinesca gallery between a Titian and a Giorgione."
Orsino resumed his position and scowled at Anastase with a good will.
"Not quite such a terrible frown, perhaps," suggested the latter. "When
you do that, you certainly look like the gentleman who murdered the
Colonna in a street brawl--I forget how long ago. You have his portrait.
But I fancy the Princess would prefer--yes--that is more natural. You
have her eyes. How the world raved about her twenty years ago--and raves
still, for that matter."
"She is the most beautiful woman in the world," said Orsino. There was
something in the boy's unaffected admiration of his mother which
contrasted pleasantly with his youthful affectation of cynicism and
indifference.
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