Del Ferice, to whom the daily whispered talk of revolution in Donna Tullia's circle was mere child's play, was utterly indifferent, and suffered himself to be amused by the young artist's vagaries.

But Donna Tullia, who longed to see herself the centre of a real plot, thought that she was being laughed, at, and pouted her red lips and frowned her displeasure.
"I believe you have no convictions!" she said angrily.

"While we are risking our lives and fortunes for the good cause, you sit here in your studio dreaming of barricades and guillotines, merely as subjects for pictures--you even acknowledge that in case we produce a revolution you would go away." "Not without finishing this portrait," returned Anastase, quite unmoved.
"It is an exceedingly good likeness; and in case you should ever disappear--you know people sometimes do in revolutions--or if by any unlucky accident your beautiful neck should chance beneath that guillotine you just mentioned,--why, then, this canvas would be the most delightful souvenir of many pleasant mornings, would it not ?" "You are incorrigible," said Donna Tullia, with a slight laugh.

"You cannot be serious for a moment." "It is very hard to paint you when your expression changes so often," replied Anastase, calmly.
"I am not in a good humour for sitting to you this morning.

I wish you would amuse me, Del Ferice.