The Marchesa beat the floor slowly with her foot, and controlled herself, as if a spasm of mortal agony had seized her. "They reached the island, and stepped ashore into the convent garden. They went into the little parlor, and presently the abbess entered veiled. My brother, who had not seen her since she was his playmate, could not pierce the veil; and as calmly as ever told her briefly the name of his friend, said a few generous words of him, and, rising, promised to call at sunset for Luigi, and departed." The Marchesa now spoke very rapidly. "I do not well know--nobody knows--but Sulpizia raised her veil, and Luigi adjusted his easel. He painted--they conversed--the day fled away. Sunset came. Camillo arrived in his gondola, and Luigi came out without smiling. The gondoliers pulled toward the city. "'Is she beautiful?' asked Camillo. "'Wonderful,' responded his friend, and said no more. He trailed his hands in the water, and then wiped them across his brow. He took off his hat and faced the evening breeze from the sea. He cried to the gondoliers that they were lazy--that the gondola did not move. It was darting like a wind over the water. "The next day they returned to the island--and the next. But at sunset, Luigi did not come to the gondola. Camillo waited, and sat until it was quite dark. Then he went through the garden of the convent, and inquired for the painter. They sought him in the parlor. He was not there. The abbess was not there. Upon the easel stood her portrait partly finished--strangely beautiful. Camillo had followed into the room, and stood suddenly before the picture. He had not seen Sulpizia since she was a child. Even his fancy had scarcely dreamed of a face so beautiful. His knees trembled as he stood, and he fell before it in the attitude of prayer. The last red flash of daylight fell upon the picture. The eyes smiled--the lips were slightly parted--a glow of awakening life trembled all through the features. "The strong man's heart was melted, and the nuns beheld him kneeling and weeping before the portrait of their abbess. "But where was she? "Nobody knew. There was no clue--except that the gondola of the convent was gone. "Camillo took the portrait and stepped into his gondola. He returned to the city, to the palace of Sulpizia's parents. Slowly he went up the great staircase, dark and silent, up which his eager steps had followed the flying feet of Sulpizia. He entered the saloon slowly, like a man who carries a heavy burden--but rather in his heart than in his hands. "'It is all that remains to you of your daughter,' said he in a low voice, throwing back his cloak, and revealing the marvellous beauty of their child's portrait to the amazed parents. Then came the agony--a child lost--a friend false.