To-day, however, he had an appointment which he anticipated with a sort of interest quite new to him.  Anastase Gouache was coming to begin his portrait, and Anastase was an object of curiosity to him.  It would have surprised the young Frenchman had he guessed how carefully he was watched, for he was a modest fellow, and did not think himself of very much importance.  He allowed Donna Tullia and her friends to come to his studio whenever they pleased, and he listened to their shallow talk, and joined, occasionally in the conversation, letting them believe that he sympathised with them, simply because his own ideas were unsettled.  It was a good thing for him to paint a portrait of Donna Tullia, for it made him the fashion, and he had small scruple in agreeing with her views so long as he had no fixed convictions of his own.  She and her set regarded him as a harmless boy, and looked upon his little studio as a convenience, in payment whereof they pushed him into society, and spread abroad the rumour that he was the rising artist of the day.  But the great Cardinal had seen him more than once, and had conceived a liking for his delicate intellectual face and unobtrusive manner.  He had watched him and caused him to be watched, and his interest had increased, and finally he had taken a fancy to have a portrait of himself painted by the young fellow.  This was the day appointed for the first sitting; and when the Cardinal reached his lodgings, high up in the Vatican pile, he found Anastase Gouache waiting for him in the small ante-chamber.

The prime minister was not luxuriously lodged.  Four rooms sufficed him—­to wit, the said ante-chamber, bare and uncarpeted, and furnished with three painted wooden box benches; a comfortable study lined throughout with shelves and lockers, furnished with half-a-dozen large chairs and a single writing-table, whereon stood a crucifix and an inkstand; beyond this a bedroom and a small dining-room:  that was all.  The drawers of the lockers and bookcases contained a correspondence which would have astonished Europe, and a collection of gems and precious stones unrivalled in the world; but there was nothing in the shape of ornament visible to the eye, unless one were to class under that head a fairly good bust of Pius IX, which stood upon a plain marble pedestal in one corner.  Gouache followed the great man into this study.  He was surprised by the simplicity of the apartment; but he felt in sympathy with it, and with the Cardinal himself; and with the intuitive knowledge of a true artist, he foresaw that he was to paint a successful portrait.

The Cardinal busied himself with some papers while the painter silently made his preparations.

“If your Eminence is ready?” suggested Gouache.

“At your service, my friend,” replied the Cardinal, blandly.  “How shall I sit?  The portrait must be taken in full face, I think.”

“By all means.  Here, I think—­so; the light is very good at this hour, but a little later we shall have the sun.  If your Eminence will look at me—­a little more to the left—­I think that will do.  I will draw it in in charcoal and your Eminence can judge.”