The service concluded, and St. Cecilia solemnly commended once more
to her eternal rest, the people all rose and wandered like black
ghosts, through the darkness of the Catacombs, following the flicker
of the torches carried by the Trappist monks, who always perform the
duty of guides on this occasion,--and, once out in the open air, in
the full blaze of the sunshine which had now broken brilliantly
through the mist of the previously threatening rain-clouds, Aubrey
Leigh saw with pain that Sylvie looked very pale and ill. He
ventured to say something solicitous concerning this to the
Princesse D'Agramont, whose bright dark eyes flashed over him with
an enigmatical look, half wonder, half scorn.
"What strange creatures men are!" she said satirically, "Even you,
clever, and gifted with an insight into human nature, seem to be
actually surprised that our poor, pretty little Sylvie looks ill!
With half Rome declaring that she WAS the mistress of Fontenelle,
and the other half swearing itself black in the face that she IS the
mistress of Gherardi, she certainly ought to be very happy, ought
she not? Indeed, almost dancing with the joy and consolation of
knowing how pleasant her 'Society' friends are making her life for
her!"
Aubrey's heart beat violently.
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