 | III. Inklings of adventure |  |
3. III.
Upon the lofty dome of the altar in the cathedral of
Bologna stands poised an angel in marble, not spoken
of in the books of travelers, but perhaps the loveliest
incarnation of a blessed cherub that ever lay in the
veined bosom of Pentelicus. Lost and unobserved on
the vast floor of the nave, the group of artists, who had
made a day's journey from Ferrara, sat in the wicker
chairs hired for a baioch the vesper, and drew silently
from this angel, while the devout people of Bologna
murmured their Ave Marias around. Signor Basil
alone was content to look over the work of his companions,
and the twilight had already begun to brighten
the undying lamps at the shrine, when he started from
the pillar against which he leaned, and crossed hastily
toward a group issuing from a private chapel in the
western aisle. A lady walked between two gentlemen
of noble mien, and behind her, attended by an equally
distinguished company, followed that lady's husband,
the Marchese del Marmore. They were strangers
passing through Bologna, and had been attended to
vespers by some noble friends.
The companions of the Signor Basil looked on with
some surprise as their enamored friend stepped confidently
before the two nobles in attendance upon the
lady, and arrested her steps with a salutation which,
though respectful as became a gentleman, was marked
reception.
“May I congratulate Miladi,” he said, rising slowly
from his bow, and fixing his eyes with unembarrassed
admiration on her own liquid but now frowning orbs,
upon her safe journey over the Marches. “Bologna,”
he continued, glancing at the nobles with a courteous
smile, “welcomes her fittingly.”
The lady listened with a look of surprise, and the
Bolognese glanced from the dusty boots of the artist to
his portfolio.
“Has the painter the honor to know La Signora?”
asked the cavalier on her right.
“Signor, si!” said the painter, fiercely, as a curl
arched the lady's lip, and she prepared to answer.
The color mounted to the temples of the Marchesa,
and her hushand, who had loitered beneath the Madonna
of Domenichino, coming up at the instant, she
bowed coldly to the Signor Basil, and continued down
the aisle. The artist followed to her carriage, and
lifted his hat respectfully as the lumbering equipage took
its way by the famous statue of Neptune, and then with
a confident smile, which seemed to his companions
somewhat mistimed, he muttered between his teeth,
“Ciascuno son bel' giorno!” and strolled loitering on
with them to the trattoria.
| III. Inklings of adventure | |