How proud to-day would be
any man or woman who could point to Rosa Bonheur and say, 'She was
my mother!' And yet perhaps this idea of mine is too fantastic,--the
Brownings left a son--and he has nothing of their genius or their
enthusiasm."
She moved to the grand piano and set it open; as she did so a
thought of Sylvie came across her mind, and she smiled.
"Dear little rose-bud of a woman!" she mused, "How glad I am that
she is happy! And how delightful it is to see the pride she takes in
Aubrey Leigh!--how she studies his books, and pores over his
statistics and theories! I really believe she knows them all by
heart! And what wonderful schemes she is building up in her mind for
the people in whom he is so interested! What a sensation she will
make if she intends to work with her husband as thoroughly and
devotedly as her ideas imply! Her marriage will be an immense
disappointment to certain persons I could name!" and she smiled,
"Dear Sylvie! With all her goodness, and grace and beauty, her name
will sound more obnoxious at the Vatican than even the name of Gys
Grandit!"
She had lifted a cluster of lilies from a vase to regroup them, and
as her thoughts turned in this direction she bent her eyes upon
their large white blooms meditatively, and a faint rose flush warmed
her cheeks.
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