There are always two persons within me,—­the actor, and the spectator.  Often the spectator is dissatisfied with the actor, but at present they both agree.

My father was the first to interrupt the silence.

“Tell me what she is like.”

Since a description is an unsatisfactory way of painting a portrait, I showed my father a large and really excellent photograph of Aniela, at which he looked with the keenest interest.  I was no less interested in the study of his face, in which I saw not only the roused artist, but also the refined connoisseur of female beauty, the old Leon l’Invincible.  Resting the photograph on the poor hand half paralyzed, he put on his eyeglass with the right, and then holding the likeness at a longer or shorter distance he began to say:  “But for certain details, the face is like one of those Ary-Schaeffer liked to paint.  How lovely she would look with tears in her eyes.  Some people dislike angelic faces in women, but I think that to teach an angel how to become a woman is the very height of victory.  She is very beautiful, very uncommon looking.  ’Enfin, tout ce qu’il y a de plus beau au monde—­c’est la femme.’”

Here he fumbled with his eyeglass, and then added:  “Judging by the face, or rather by the photograph (sometimes one makes mistakes, but I have had some practice), hers is a thoroughly loyal nature.  Women of this type are in love with the whiteness of their plumage.  God bless you, my boy!  I like her very much, this Aniela of yours.  I used to be afraid you might end by marrying a foreigner—­let it be Aniela.”

I came up close to him and he put his arm round my neck.

“I should like to see my future daughter before I die.”

I assured him that he would certainly see her shortly.  Then I unfolded my plans of bringing Aniela and her mother over to Rome.  After a betrothal by letter I might expect as much, and the ladies would not refuse, if only out of consideration for my father.  In this case the marriage ceremony would take place at Rome, and that very soon.

My father was delighted with the plan; old and sick people like to see around them life and motion.  I knew that Aniela would be pleased with this turn of affairs, and let my thoughts dwell upon it with more and more pleasure.  Within a few weeks everything would be settled.  Such quick decision would be against my nature, but the very idea that I could exert myself if I wished raised my spirits.  I already saw myself escorting Aniela about Rome.  Only those who live there understand what a delight it is to show to anybody the endless treasures of that city,—­a much greater delight when the somebody is the beloved woman.