Vendetta | Page 9

lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and
walked slowly to her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and
paintings on her way, and bidding good-morning to each of the young
girls of the first group, not observing the unusual curiosity excited by
her presence. She was like a queen in the midst of her court; she paid
no attention to the profound silence that reigned among the patricians,
and passed before their camp without pronouncing a single word. Her
absorption seemed so great that she sat down before her easel, opened
her color-box, took up her brushes, drew on her brown sleeves,
arranged her apron, looked at her picture, examined her palette, without,
apparently, thinking of what she was doing. All heads in the group of
the bourgeoises were turned toward her. If the young ladies in the
Thirion camp did not show their impatience with the same frankness,
their sidelong glances were none the less directed on Ginevra.
"She hasn't noticed it!" said Mademoiselle Roguin.
At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she
had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the
group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now
separated her from them; but she said nothing.
"It hasn't occurred to her that they meant to insult her," said Matilde;
"she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls will be if

she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of bounds,
mademoiselle," she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra.
The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. She
rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side of the
partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, and
seemed to be examining the sash through which her light came,--
giving so much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the
green serge, which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that
height, her eye was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, the
real object of her efforts, for the glance that she cast through it can be
compared only to that of a miser discovering Aladdin's treasure. Then
she sprang down hastily and returned to her place, changed the position
of her picture, pretended to be still dissatisfied with the light, pushed a
table close to the partition, on which she placed a chair, climbed lightly
to the summit of this erection, and again looked through the crevice.
She cast but one glance into the space beyond, which was lighted
through a skylight; but what she saw produced so strong an effect upon
her that she tottered.
"Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you'll fall!" cried Laure.
All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of their
coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, and
replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:--
"Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!"
She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table
as far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and seemed
to be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now thrown upon
it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was wholly bent
on getting as near as possible to the closet, against the door of which
she finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare her palette in the
deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, distinctly, a sound which
had strongly excited her curiosity the evening before, and had whirled
her young imagination across vast fields of conjecture. She recognized
the firm and regular breathing of a man whom she had just seen asleep.

Her curiosity was satisfied beyond her expectations, but at the same
time she felt saddled by an immense responsibility. Through the
opening in the wall she had seen the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock
bed, faintly lighted from above, lay the form of an officer of the Guard.
She guessed all. Servin was hiding a proscribed man!
She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to
examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath
might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political
victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to her
wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise.
"Better that I should be here," thought she, "to prevent some luckless
accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless betrayal."
This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently
shown to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted,
because the change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural