She is one of those concerning whom
other women say 'they can see nothing in her'. Ah!" and Moretti
smiled darkly, "What a compliment that is from the majority of women
to one! This woman Sylvie is unique. Where is her beauty? You cannot
say--yet beauty is her very essence. She cannot boast perfection of
features,--she is frequently hidden away altogether in a room and
scarcely noticed. And so she reminds me of a certain flower known to
the Eastern nations, which is difficult to find, because so fragile
and small that it can scarcely be seen, but when it is found, and
the scent of it unwittingly inhaled, it drives men mad!"
Gherardi looked at him with a broadly wondering smile.
"You speak so eloquently," he said, "that one would almost fancy--"
"Fancy nothing!" retorted Moretti quickly, "Fancy and I are as far
apart as the poles, except in the putting together of words, in
which easy art I daresay I am as great an adept as Florian Varillo,
who can write verses on love or patriotism to order, without
experiencing a touch of either emotion. What a humbug by the way,
that fellow is!--" and Moretti broke off to consider this new point-
-"He rants of the honour of Italy, and would not let his finger ache
for her cause! And he professes to love the 'Sovrani' while all Rome
knows that Pon-Pon is his mistress!"
Gherardi wisely held his peace.
Pages:
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494