“So you are going to fight for Pio Nono,” remarked Ugo, scornfully, after another pause.

“I am,” replied Gouache.  “And, no offence to you, my friend, if I meet you in a red shirt among the Garibaldini, I will kill you.  It would be very unpleasant, so I hope that you will not join them.”

“Take care, Del Ferice,” laughed Donna Tullia; “your life is in danger!  You had better join the Zouaves instead.”

“I cannot paint his Eminence’s portrait,” returned Ugo, with a sneer, “so there is no chance of that.”

“You might assist him with wholesome advice, I should think,” answered Gouache.  “I have no doubt you could tell him much that would be very useful.”

“And turn traitor to—­”

“Hush!  Do not be so silly, Del Ferice,” interrupted Donna Tullia, who began to fear that Del Ferice’s taunts would make trouble.  She had a secret conviction that it would not be good to push the gentle Anastase too far.  He was too quiet, too determined, and too serious not to be a little dangerous if roused.

“Do not be absurd,” she repeated.  “Whatever Gouache may choose to do, he is a gentleman, and I will not have you talk of traitors like that.  He does not quarrel with you—­why do you try to quarrel with him?”

“I think he has done quite enough to justify a quarrel, I am sure,” replied Del Ferice, moodily.

“My dear sir,” said Gouache, desisting from his work and turning towards Ugo, “Madame is quite right.  I not only do not quarrel, but I refuse to be quarrelled with.  You have my most solemn assurance that whatever has previously passed here, whatever I have heard said by you, by Donna Tullia, by Valdarno, by any of your friends, I regard as an inviolable secret.  You formerly said I had no convictions, and you were right.  I had none, and I listened to your exposition of your own with considerable interest.  My case is changed.  I need not tell you what I believe, for I wear the uniform of a Papal Zouave.  When I put it on, I certainly did not contemplate offending you; I do not wish to offend you now—­I only beg that you will refrain from offending me.  For my part, I need only say that henceforth I do not desire to take a part in your councils.  If Donna Tullia is satisfied with her portrait, there need be no further occasion for our meeting.  If, on the contrary, we are to meet again, I beg that we may meet on a footing of courtesy and mutual respect.”

It was impossible to say more; and Gouache’s speech terminated the situation so far as Del Ferice was concerned.  Donna Tullia smilingly expressed her approval.

“Quite right, Gouache,” she said.  “You know it would be impossible to leave the portrait as it is now.  The mouth, you know—­you promised to do something to it—­just the expression, you know.”

Gouache bowed his head a little, and set to work again without a word.  Del Ferice did not speak again during the sitting, but sat moodily staring at the canvas, at Donna Tullia, and at the floor.  It was not often that he was moved from his habitual suavity of manner, but Gouache’s conduct had made him feel particularly uncomfortable.