Vendetta | Page 8

then, could she hate
him? The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father.
The Baron di Piombo was among those of Napoleon's devoted servants
who had co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba.
Incapable of denying his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the
old baron remained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra
Piombo was all the more open to condemnation because she made no
secret of the grief which the second Restoration caused to her family.
The only tears she had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the
twofold news of Napoleon's captivity on the "Bellerophon," and
Labedoyere's arrest.
The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most
devoted royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an idea
of the exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror inspired
by the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie's action
may now seem to be, it was at that time a very natural expression of the
prevailing hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin's first pupils, had
occupied the place that was now taken from her since the first day of
her coming to the studio. The aristocratic circle had gradually
surrounded her. To drive her from a place that in some sense belonged
to her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a species of artistic
pain; for all artists have a spot of predilection where they work.
Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the
conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of
Servin's pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master testified
as much admiration for the talents as for the character of his favorite

pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. In fact,
without any one being able to explain the ascendancy which this young
girl obtained over all who came in contact with her, she exercised over
the little world around her a prestige not unlike that of Bonaparte upon
his soldiers.
The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the
fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid the
Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion's act was, therefore, a decisive
stroke, intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the
accomplices of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by
several of these royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at
home with their political ideas, they decided, with the tactics peculiar
to women, that they should do best to keep themselves aloof from the
quarrel.
On Ginevra's arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound
silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin's
studio, she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her
carriage and demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which
commanded respect. Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to
radiate light, so inspired was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to
Corsicans,--which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long hair
and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion; the corners of her
mouth, too softly defined, and the lips, a trifle too marked, gave signs
of that kindliness which strong beings derive from the consciousness of
their strength.
By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some
degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost
savage pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of
a Corsican. In that was the only link between herself and her native
land. All the rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of her
Lombard beauty, was so seductive that it was difficult for those who
looked at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen attraction that her
old father caused her, as matter of precaution, to be accompanied to and
from the studio. The only defect of this truly poetic creature came from

the very power of a beauty so fully developed; she looked a woman.
Marriage she had refused out of love to her father and mother, feeling
herself necessary to the comfort of their old age. Her taste for painting
took the place of the passions and interests which usually absorb her
sex.
"You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles," she said, after advancing
a little way among her companions. "Good-morning, my little Laure,"
she added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl who
was painting apart from the rest. "That head is strong,--the flesh tints a
little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent."
Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces
beamed with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile
brightened the