clasping　of　her　hands。
  〃Poor；　dear；　blessed　gentleman；〃　she　murmured；　〃is　he　dying？〃
  〃Possibly。　　How　long　has　he　been　thus？〃
  〃Since　a　certain　night　he　passed　ten　days　ago。　　I　came　up　in　the
  morning　to　make　his　poor　bed；　and　found　him　sitting　up　in　his　clothes
  before　that　great　canvas　he　keeps　there。　　Poor；　dear；　strange　man；　he
  says　his　prayers　to　it！　　He　had　not　been　to　bed；　nor　since　then；
  properly！　　What　has　happened　to　him？　　Has　he　found　out　about　the
  Serafina？〃　she　whispered；　with　a　glittering　eye　and　a　toothless　grin。
  〃Prove　at　least　that　one　old　woman　can　be　faithful；〃　I　said；　〃and
  watch　him　well　till　I　come　back。〃　　My　return　was　delayed；　through　the
  absence　of　the　English　physician；　who　was　away　on　a　round　of　visits；
  and　whom　I　vainly　pursued　from　house　to　house　before　I　overtook　him。
  I　brought　him　to　Theobald's　bedside　none　too　soon。　　A　violent　fever
  had　seized　our　patient；　and　the　case　was　evidently　grave。　　A　couple
  of　hours　later　I　knew　that　he　had　brain　fever。　　From　this　moment　I
  was　with　him　constantly；　but　I　am　far　from　wishing　to　describe　his
  illness。　　Excessively　painful　to　witness；　it　was　happily　brief。　　Life
  burned　out　in　delirium。　　One　night　in　particular　that　I　passed　at　his
  pillow；　listening　to　his　wild　snatches　of　regret；　of　aspiration；　of
  rapture　and　awe　at　the　phantasmal　pictures　with　which　his　brain
  seemed　to　swarm；　comes　back　to　my　memory　now　like　some　stray　page
  from　a　lost　masterpiece　of　tragedy。　　Before　a　week　was　over　we　had
  buried　him　in　the　little　Protestant　cemetery　on　the　way　to　Fiesole。
  The　Signora　Serafina；　whom　I　had　caused　to　be　informed　of　his
  illness；　had　come　in　person；　I　was　told；　to　inquire　about　its
  progress；　but　she　was　absent　from　his　funeral；　which　was　attended　by
  but　a　scanty　concourse　of　mourners。　　Half　a　dozen　old　Florentine
  sojourners；　in　spite　of　the　prolonged　estrangement　which　had　preceded
  his　death；　had　felt　the　kindly　impulse　to　honour　his　grave。　　Among
  them　was　my　friend　Mrs。　Coventry；　whom　I　found；　on　my　departure；
  waiting　in　her　carriage　at　the　gate　of　the　cemetery。
  〃Well；〃　she　said；　relieving　at　last　with　a　significant　smile　the
  solemnity　of　our　immediate　greeting；　〃and　the　great　Madonna？　　Have
  you　seen　her；　after　all？〃
  〃I　have　seen　her；〃　I　said；　〃she　is　mineby　bequest。　　But　I　shall
  never　show　her　to　you。〃
  〃And　why　not；　pray？〃
  〃My　dear　Mrs。　Coventry；　you　would　not　understand　her！〃
  〃Upon　my　word；　you　are　polite。〃
  〃Excuse　me；　I　am　sad　and　vexed　and　bitter。〃　　And　with　reprehensible
  rudeness　I　marched　away。　　I　was　excessively　impatient　to　leave
  Florence；　my　friend's　dark　spirit　seemed　diffused　through　all　things。
  I　had　packed　my　trunk　to　start　for　Rome　that　night；　and　meanwhile；　to
  beguile　my　unrest；　I　aimlessly　paced　the　streets。　　Chance　led　me　at
  last　to　the　church　of　San　Lorenzo。　　Remembering　poor　Theobald's
  phrase　about　Michael　Angelo〃He　did　his　best　at　a　venture〃I　went
  in　and　turned　my　steps　to　the　chapel　of　the　tombs。　　Viewing　in
  sadness　the　sadness　of　its　immortal　treasures；　I　fancied；　while　I
  stood　there；　that　they　needed　no　ampler　commentary　than　these　simple
  words。　　As　I　passed　through　the　church　again　to　leave　it；　a　woman；
  turning　away　from　one　of　the　side　altars；　met　me　face　to　face。　　The
  black　shawl　depending　from　her　head　draped　picturesquely　the　handsome
  visage　of　Madonna　Serafina。　　She　stopped　as　she　recognised　me；　and　I
  saw　that　she　wished　to　speak。　　Her　eye　was　bright；　and　her　ample
  bosom　heaved　in　a　way　that　seemed　to　portend　a　certain　sharpness　of
  reproach。　　But　the　expression　of　my　own　face；　apparently；　drew　the
  sting　from　her　resentment；　and　she　addressed　me　in　a　tone　in　which
  bitterness　was　tempered　by　a　sort　of　dogged　resignation。　　〃I　know　it
  was　you；　now；　that　separated　us；〃　she　said。　　〃It　was　a　pity　he　ever
  brought　you　to　see　me！　　Of　course；　you　couldn't　think　of　me　as　he
  did。　　Well；　the　Lord　gave　him；　the　Lord　has　taken　him。　　I　have　just
  paid　for　a　nine　days'　mass　for　his　soul。　　And　I　can　tell　you　this；
  signoreI　never　deceived　him。　　Who　put　it　into　his　head　that　I　was
  made　to　live　on　holy　thoughts　and　fine　phrases？　　It　was　his　own
  fancy；　and　it　pleased　him　to　think　so。Did　he　suffer　much？〃　she
  added　more　softly；　after　a　pause。
  〃His　sufferings　were　great；　but　they　were　short。〃
  〃And　did　he　speak　of　me？〃　　She　had　hesitated　and　dropped　her　eyes；
  she　raised　them　with　her　question；　and　revealed　in　their　sombre
  stillness　a　gleam　of　feminine　confidence　which；　for　the　moment；
  revived　and　illumined　her　beauty。　　Poor　Theobald！　　Whatever　name　he
  had　given　his　passion；　it　was　still　her　fine　eyes　that　had　charmed
  him。
  〃Be　contented；　madam；〃　I　answered；　gravely。
  She　dropped　her　eyes　again　and　was　silent。　　Then　exhaling　a　full　rich
  sigh；　as　she　gathered　her　shawl　together〃He　was　a　magnificent
  genius！〃
  I　bowed；　and　we　separated。
  Passing　through　a　narrow　side　street　on　my　way　back　to　my　hotel；　I
  perceived　above　a　doorway　a　sign　which　it　seemed　to　me　I　had　read
  before。　　I　suddenly　remembered　that　it　was　identical　with　the
  superscription　of　a　card　that　I　had　carried　for　an　hour　in　my
  waistcoat　pocket。　　On　the　threshold　stood　the　ingenious　artist　whose
  claims　to　public　favour　were　thus　distinctly　signalised；　smoking　a
  pipe　in　the　evening　air；　and　giving　the　finishing　polish　with　a　bit
  of　rag　to　one　of　his　inimitable　〃combinations。〃　　I　caught　the
  expressive　curl　of　a　couple　of　tails。　　He　recognised　me；　removed　his
  little　red　cap　with　a　most　obsequious　bow；　and　motioned　me　to　enter
  his　studio。　　I　returned　his　salute　and　passed　on；　vexed　with　the
  apparition。　　For　a　week　afterwards；　whenever　I　was　seized　among　the
  ruins　of　triumphant　Rome　with　some　peculiarly　poignant　memory　of
  Theobald's　transcendent　illusions　and　deplorable　failure；　I　seemed　to
  hear　a　fantastic；　impertinent　murmur；　〃Cats　and　monkeys；　monkeys　and
  cats；　all　human　life　there！〃
  End